The Grief Spot

Some Days You Just Need to Cry

2011-11-21T19:26:00.001-05:00

I had to include this picture in my blog. The colours capture the feeling of melancholy and epitomise the image of a haunted forest. In a blog about crying, this photo embodies the sombre mood I am in.

There are times when I suddenly realize that I have been holding myself together. Going through life stoically as though I am impervious to what is happening around me. I believe that I am fooling the people who care about me into thinking that I am coping. It is that pinnacle moment when I recognize how much I am holding in, that I need to let it go.
I know friends who journal, some others go to the gym or do yoga, several friends have mastered the skill of meditation. For me, I need to cry. The other things are helpful and definitely a part of a healthy lifestyle but when I know that my body is made up more of tension than calm I need to let go. A full out sob is required.
Over time I have realized that these "emotional breakdowns" work better if they are scheduled (or at least predictable). Sobbing in the line at the grocery store (done it) or on the phone with your alarm system company (done that too) or at a parent/teacher conference (oh yes that too) does not alleviate frustration, it can cause embarassment.

*Although if I had my soap box I would be ranting about the importance of honouring your emotions and not "hiding" you feelings. But the reality is, the general public does not do well with tears ~ there is still a stigma that tears are a sign of weakness or attributed to what Freud termed "hysteria" ~ the plight of the female and her emotional outbursts.*

Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, scheduling "a good cry."
I find time when I know that I can be vulnerable, in a space where I am free of judgement and safe to express my emotions. Sometimes I include my partner if I think it would help for us to better understand how I am currently feeling, but mostly it is something that I choose to do alone.
My favourite place to cry is in the bath. My body is ready to relax from the warmth, there is no concern about getting wet and the accoustics of a good wail reverberated off the walls of a bathroom, priceless. The instant release of tension from every muscle in my body, in addition to the complete and utter exhaustion that comes over me once I have cried is the perfect remedy for my stoicism.
Caution! Once you have allowed for the release it is possible that whatever you have "bottled," "stuffed," or "held onto" will also come out along with the tears.
I probably do not cry as often as I "should" and I probably could learn to identify how I am feeling rather than wait until I can cry. But until that happens I will work with the solutions I have!

A Day to Never Forget

2011-09-11T12:22:00.000-04:00

As someone who writes about grief, there has been one enormous grief that I have intentionally stayed away from, that of September 11th, 2001. Today marks the 10th anniversary of that tragic day. It is a day that has become a part of our global history. The television, radio and Internet sites are reminding us that today is a day to remember. Today we will honour those people who lost there lives and be thankful for the bravery of those who perished in their attempts to minimize the casualties.
My hope is that today is not simply represented by images meant to engage us in reliving the devastation of that day. Rather, it should remind us that today altered the course of people's lives. It changed individuals and families, so that they were no longer who they used to be. It took away their notion of "normal" and forced them to establish a new identity without their loved one.
I have had the honour and privilege of talking with people who experienced the death of a family member on September 11th. They shared the complexity of a national grief that surrounded them while they struggled to cope with their daily personal griefs that could not possibly be shared. I came to the realization that while my fears were realized for a day, their fears would be recognized day in and day out. While we take the time to remember on every anniversary of September 11th, there are the loved ones of the dead who have never forgotten for one moment of any day. In fact, as a global community represented by the media, we are telling these grievers how significant it is to be at the 10 year anniversary, I am sure if we listened, we could hear them say "oh, I know."
Today I am lost in thinking how my life went on after the media coverage died down 10 years ago. I, like everyone else, watched the television as it replayed the implosion of a nation's sanctity and robbed the world of our communal naivité.
Like the world, I was impacted by the increased airport security and the nervous tension as a war between nation's began. I am acutely aware today, that unlike so many, I hugged my family that day, I called my friends on the phone and I slept that night because for me and many others around the world, it was only a part of my lived experience.
Instead of saying that I remember today, I will make a promise to those in my life that I will do more not to forget. I will honour those lives by embracing my family and reminding them that they are loved and I will remind myself how very lucky I am to have that privilege.

Finding the Words

2011-05-03T10:17:00.000-04:00

I started off today wanting to write about how this feels. I came up with phrases like "the uncomfortable, gnawing gap in my internal rhythm." Then I thought, what does that really mean? When I tried to equate it to other experiences that possibly anyone could relate to, it paled in comparison to what it was, his death. How might I explain what it felt like to succumb to my son's death? To see his name written on a death certificate? To pick his final "resting" place? To have his name carved into granite as a reminder of the years passed without him? I could not find a common pain that compared, no experience that felt as raw, hollow or consuming. I think that is the reality of grief, we cannot equate it to a common experience, we cannot help people to peer into our pain and the very intimacy of our pain makes it difficult to share. I have decided not to talk about the pain today.
Flynn's birthday is today, just as much as it was the day that he died. I want to do something different this year, I want to share his joy, the joy we knew and felt surrounding his life. He was not conceived in sadness and pain and it hurts to think that his legacy is now equivalent only to sorrow.
Rhys was 18 months when we realized we wanted to continue our family. We loved being his parents and we were intoxicated by our love for him. When we had tried to conceive for six months, we talked to our doctor, when it was ten months we saw a specialist and at a year we went onto fertility drugs. I realize now that I was inpatient, but I had a deep desire to be a mother again, to meet a new little person and watch them grow.
On Boxing Day we got two surprises, a positive pregnancy test and a two and a half year old with chicken pox. After making sure that chicken pox and pregnancy would be okay (I was immune), our family of three spent a week on the pull out couch in our living room watching TV, dozing and revelling in our family.
During my pregnancy I could not hide my symptoms. Coffee sent me flying into the washroom, food before 11am was not tolerated and by the time that we were 10 weeks along most people knew we were pregnant. At the time, someone told me that you should wait to share a pregnancy with people, in case something went wrong. Now I appreciate that we need to do what feels right for us, I had so many people anticipating this new life, supporting my pregnancy, I do not regret that now.
At 14 weeks I started to feel the baby kick. It was early, I know, but it is not my memory playing tricks or my dates being wrong, that was when it started, I journalled it during the pregnancy. It was a true blessing. From the first kick I began to develop a bond with this baby, talking to him, confiding in him, having a private moment in time with him.
He kicked so frequently that I would often picture a long, lean little child (I didn't know the sex yet) in there hanging of the umbilical cord wanting to let me know that they were hungry, tired and stretching or just plain bored. Funny visualization, but that is what I saw when I thought of the baby. I appreciated the continuous reminders that he was in there and okay. It came in handy when a nurse told me she could not find his heartbeat, meanwhile he was tenderizing my liver! That would be the only time that I would be confident about my baby's life and his existence.
At this point in Flynn's story things get dark and it is hard to remember if there was any joy. One moment that was not tainted by heartbreak was the first ultrasound at 18 weeks, when the ultrasound technician asked us if we wanted to know what we were having. Rhys was with us and we both said YES! Another boy, said the technician and Rhys was overjoyed to know that he would have a brother. That was a great moment and one that even Flynn's death would not change, Rhys would have a brother and it would change his identity significantly.
I have written a lot about the doctor's, the diagnosis and the despair surrounding Flynn's birth.
There were some things that went right. He was born in our home hospital, just seconds before they were ready to put me into an ambulance bound for the nearest NICU. That meant we got to hold him, our parents were able to hold him and see him and touch him. There were no tubes and wires or Plexiglas keeping us from his life (there is a need for this care, but in his grim reality, not for him).
He was born alive. **side note** My heart aches for the families that did not hold their babies in life and I can only be honest for my wishes on that day, his life would not have been any different in significance had he died before he was born. When I was labouring the day of Flynn's birth all I asked for was to hold him alive (in hopes of a miracle really). My family saw him kick and move his arms. His mouth opened and closed while his chest rose and fell. The intimate relationship that I shared with him for almost six months could now be experienced by my family as they held him, cried over him and whispered their love and wishes for him.

He made me a better person. It took awhile. I needed to grieve. For me, that meant being angry at myself, at my partner and even my children (living and deceased). I had to cry, be sad, be depressed and honour what that meant for me. I needed to rebuild all of the relationships that were changed by Flynn's life and death and at times accept that some of those relationships would not be rebuilt, they would also cease to exist. As I began to cope with my new reality, I began to appreciate what was important to me and what wasn't. I redefined who I wanted to be and let go of who I couldn't be. I may have done all of these things at some point in my life, but not at twenty-six and not with the clarity and maturity that came out of our experience.
I think there is probably so much more that I could say, but finding the joy on a day that is different from nine years ago and yet remains difficult to reconcile has exhausted the words that I have left.
Today is Flynn's birthday. Today I will remember the joy.

The Body Remembers

2011-04-26T21:03:00.000-04:00

The same time, every year, I get into a funk.
It starts with feeling run down, unmotivated and fatigued. Those feelings are often followed by me becoming grumpy, depressed, and very sad.
I experience this same cycle every year in mid April and every year it takes me to the end of April to realize that this cyclical pattern within my body is all the beginning of my unconscious acknowledgement that Flynn's anniversary is approaching.
No matter how distracted, focused or oblivious I am to the calendar, my body remembers that 365 days have passed since his last anniversary, even now, nine years after his death. Its funny that my mind has still not picked up the alert system that my body has integrated into it's biology.
Every year I handle the signals differently. Some years I have embraced the sadness, wanting to wrap myself up in the memories and linger there. Other years it has felt more comfortable to just get through it, do what I need to do and then move forward. I have done that a number of ways such as ignoring the day altogether or keeping it to myself. I have never been able to predict what kind of year it is going to be, it has been different with every anniversary.
The first one was difficult; it was a reminder that time had continued for everyone even after my world had stopped. The second anniversary felt more like a signal that I could not stay where I was with my grief; it was time to cope and learn to manage my life again. Some anniversaries I was able to ignore the significance of the day completely, possibly as a form of self preservation. Ignoring it, while needed at the time, always led to a feeling of guilt. Guilt because I had not taken time to acknowledge my son's death which also meant that I had not acknowledged his life.
That leads me to this year, 2011. This year Flynn would have been nine, I cannot begin to explain the denial I want to experience when I think of how much time has passed. I think of how different May 3rd would be if he were alive. We would be celebrating his approach to double digits, his almost being a decade old. Instead I am coming to the realization that it has almost been ten years since I held him, smelled him and felt his warm little body in my arms.

It is hard because alternatively 2011 has been filled with so many fabulous experiences. While I am enjoying the shift in my life, I have needed to shed more tears, allow for the memories, embrace the reality of who I am, more this year. It has been surprising and therapeutic. I believe that Flynn has been missing from my life for a couple of years, so that I could do what was needed for Bereaved Families and in my role as a support for bereaved people. It is hard to admit that I had to close myself off to his memory and it has been equally difficult to figure out how to open myself back up to it. As his mother I am hard on myself and feel, at times, like I have abandoned him in order to cope. The emotion that I have encountered while remembering him, is humbling. To remember his purpose, the significance of his little life and the importance of not forgetting, it is a part of my journey that I am glad to have found again.
This year, 2011, has been based in the pursuit of my dreams to finish school and get my Masters in Social Work. I have said so many times (in this blog) that my path and my course was set the day that Flynn was born. There have been several other reasons that my life was destined to be in a helping and supportive profession, but he was my inspiration, my purpose for knowing that I was on the right path.
His life, so short and yet so meaningful is remembered first by my body that carried him, then by my mind that remembers his tiny toes, fingers and his perfect little face and finally by my heart that is forever scarred by his death and swollen with love by his life.

A Gift from Grandma

2011-03-20T22:12:00.000-04:00

I think about my grandma all the time. She died four years ago on March 17th. Some days it feels like we have been without her forever. Other days it was just yesterday that I sat in a room talking to her.
I have experienced grief where the pain of memories seers the muscles of your heart and strums the nerves in your mind.
Remembering my grandma has never felt this way. She spent my life preparing me for the day that I would not be with her. It was not done despairingly or dark and gloomy. She was just very honest about her struggle with chronic illness and the prognosis for her life. She talked to me honestly, shared stories of her challenges, her accomplishments and her failures. Unlike any other adult in my life, she allowed me to see her vulnerable and she gave me permission to be fallible while encouraging me to be better in light of mistakes or missteps. Possibly I am painting a picture of a soft spoken, gentle woman. That brings a huge smile to my face. My grandma was outspoken, opinionated, hard headed and relentless. I was witness to many instances where the recipient of her sharp tongue was fighting a losing battle. As difficult as my grandma could be she was always in my corner, supporting my spirit and who I was or who I could be.
My grandma's death was sudden and anticipated. Someone who has watched a loved one struggle with a lifelong chronic illness will understand this sentiment. I think when my family is honest, we knew that her time with us was increasingly limited, but one day she was okay and within a week she was gone. I remember feeling like there was a tear in the fabric of my existence the day that she died. I was not sure how I would navigate life without my cheerleader.
I would like to reiterate my love for my grandma. Her presence in my life was a blessing and her death filled me with sadness. I have learned that as we learn to cope and heal following the death of loved ones sometimes we begin to see the gifts that they have left for us. The reminders that while life is different without them their influence continues to the end of our days. My grandma's death left me two very special gifts and I am so grateful.
The first gift is the relationship that I developed with my grandpa. My grandma was such a force in our family. As in many relationships, I think that it was easy for my grandpa to be eclipsed by the enormity of my grandma's personality. My grandpa is a quiet, thoughtful, humorous soul but my grandma was regularly the one that relayed information from our family to theirs and vice versa. Following her death, we had to refashion the connectedness that we chose to have with one another. I began to see my grandpa differently. I heard his voice, I could visualize his world and learned about who he was as an individual.
I have always loved my grandpa, but now we are part of a relationship. It is nice to communicate with him and I have learned so much about who he is. It is a gift and I cherish him more every day.
The second gift is a little more complex.
Following my grandma's death, I felt an emptiness. I missed the love and support that she gave me and I believed that was an adjustment that I would have to make.
Audrey entered my life by bringing happiness to my grandpa's life. Audrey has a gentle, considerate nature. She has embraced our family with empathy and compassion, recognizing that we would need time to reconcile our loss. It did not take long to see that she is thoughtful and witty (like my grandfather). Her charisma and energy is infectious and welcoming. Audrey did not join our family trying to fill a hole. She has shown our family so much respect and yet as I recognize my grandma will never be replaceable I also acknowledge that there is a place for Audrey in our lives and in our family. People become family on much less merit than the love, patience and respect Audrey has shown for my family. I do not believe anyone can have too much love. I feel blessed and like my grandma has given me one more gift in Audrey.
My grandma defined her role in my life by being my cheerleader, by loving and respecting me. In life I felt very loved by her and in death she ensured that I would continue to feel loved. How lucky am I?

A Refuge in Music

2011-02-02T20:08:00.000-05:00

I am stealing the idea for this blog from my wonderful friend across the pond, Nicola who has the ability to inspire through her writing. This time she has made me think about how music or more precisely songs, have chronicled the grief in my life. At the time of significant loss, I would lose myself in my thoughts, hide away in my room, house or car and just listen to songs that reminded me of the hurt or the hope.
For those of you who hang on to the notion of music and culture (you know who you are)I will profess that my choice of songs may have been pop sensations or one hit wonders. At the time of their importance, the songs were not about the charts or the artistic form but rather for the words or the melody and how it suited my life at that point in time.
I thought I would include a brief summary before the song, an insight into the loss and how the song came to be the theme for that time in my life.

I remember visiting my girlfriend's dad in the hospital after he was diagnosed with cancer. I can still recall how a significant man in stature and composure could look so weak and vulnerable, it broke my heart. His death changed my reality, I was no longer immortal. The day that I drove to his funeral, this song was playing on the radio. When the phone rang at my home later that day to tell me that my other friend's sister had just died, it seemed that much more fitting.

Everybody Hurts - REM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pudOFG5X6uA

This song has become epic for funerals and as a theme to prevent suicide, but the day I heard it was the first day it was released on the radio.

Ten months later, a handful of friends waited with baited breath to hear news that our friend, Sheri, would overcome her current struggle with Cystic Fibrosis. We prayed that this time like others, was just a blip in her life story and she would continue to beat the odds of a life-limiting illness. On a Friday evening I returned home from work to my parent's sympathetic looks. I remember the instant flash of hatred that they would or could tell me such a lie, that my beloved friend could not possibly have died, this was not the way our paths would end. All I could do was run from my house and get in the car and drive. I know that there seems to be a theme, but on that drive this song came on the radio, not only one of my favourite performers but words that held meaning to my relationship with my friend.

I'll Remember - Madonna
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0628NtGJAWQ

I never thought that I would know a more profound death than that of my friend Sheri. Hers was a kinship that I will never be able to properly put into words.

A celebrated pregnancy, an anticipated child, a belief in the exception to the rule; these were all the ways I would describe my naivete prior to Flynn's birth. Even five weeks of bed rest, doctor's appointments and ultrasounds did not deter my hope for the end result of a healthy child. I never stopped talking to him, establishing a bond between mother and child, rocking my body to soothe him to sleep or answering his kicks with the rub of my belly. His birth and death would devastate my normal, turn my world upside down. Every song hurt, every melody, every poetic verse cut through me, it took months to find solace. This song gave expression to how I thought and felt about Flynn, how I was coping, how much I missed him and needed to redefine our relationship so I could continue.

Iris - Goo Goo Dolls
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdYWuo9OFAw

There have been times in my life that I have felt like the singer, singing to Flynn and then other times when I felt like he was the singer and the song was his message to me.

When Landy and I separated, it was a devastating and confusing time in both of our lives. Nothing that we said to each other provided comfort. In fact, words meant to soothe were construed as words meant to wound. Many conversations broke down and escalated our situation further into anger and sadness. It was at that time that I could not find words to convey the hurt that this song came on the radio. Not only did it illustrate how I saw the two of us NOT communicating, it said the things that I could not.

How to Save a Life - The Fray
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VKja7XmFcM

My Grandma had an exhaustive influence on my life and in how I came to be me. Her defiance of the odds, her stamina in the face of chronic illness and her liberated view of my world gave me the confidence that I could be anyone and anything. What a powerful message to give to a young girl in today's society. Her imperfections, her biases, her mistakes allowed me to be flawed and to be human. The day that she died (as we headed home from vacation), I realized that my world would be changed once more. I heard this song on our long drive home from Florida and I knew that there was nothing more to fix, but it was something that as a child I had wanted more than life, to be able to fix her.
Fix You - Coldplay
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skUJ-B6oVDQ

I think that in light of the length of this blog, I will simply leave you with a quote by one of my favourite poets:
"Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness." ~Maya Angelou, Gather Together in My Name

You Can Always Learn

2010-11-26T16:50:00.000-05:00

I decided to write an academic paper on the death of a child, more specifically on the death of a baby. I wanted to have a better understanding of how people in a supportive role may view the experience of parental grief based on the academic theory that is out there. While some journal articles and texts were excellent in accurately describing what I knew to be my experience, other papers described grief in terms of coming to an end or unhealthy if not drawn to a conclusive close. While interpretation is subjective and even the topic of grief is an individual experience, it was concerning to think that a support system might put expectations on grievers that were neither empathetic or helpful in their approach.
Another interesting theme in the literature was the differential between death of a baby and death of a child. It was because of the distinction that I had to pick a focus for my paper that I originally intended to be generally on the death of a child. I was not surprised by the separation of death experiences, I have witnessed that need for distinction in my work offering support to bereaved parents and it both fascinates and concerns me that a differential is made. The importance of the age of the child at the time of death plays into the societal ambivalence surrounding perinatal death, stillbirth, and infant death as well as impacting bereaved parents of older adult children. The more specific the death "credentials" to the legitimacy of the experience the more difficult it may be for parents to find support through common losses. For instance a support worker may feel challenged to find peer support for a bereaved parent who wants to meet with a parent who has experienced the death of a 16 year old to a car accident where there was no illegal activity involved in the death. This may seem like a specific and unlikely scenario but I have seen the affects of differentiating and how it can lead to more and more distinctions, which ultimately have the ability to isolate and alienate the parents who seek the inclusiveness and the parents who are excluded.
I have even read in a text for clinicians on how to support a bereaved parent, that parents who have experienced the death of a baby "have a briefer period of grief than parents of an older child." I would counter this literature and say that parents of a child of any age have their own unique experience with grief. The death of a child, no matter the circumstances of the death or the age of the deceased presents parents with the unimaginable task of continuing their life with the knowledge that your child will never meet the milestones, have the experiences, create the memories that the parent themselves have experienced. To challenge how long it takes for a parent to learn to cope with grief based on the amount of time that the parent interacted with the child (how long the child was alive) assumes that a parent's love and value for the child begins at a time distinguished by society. What about the parent who dreamed of having children since they were young, in the delivery room with a list of names they started in their early teens, shocked by the stillbirth of their baby? Is the death of that new life less valid because the parents did not hear them cry?
Here is what I know. I loved my son from the time I was a young girl playing with dolls, imagining my future family. I sat with doctors and nurses as they explained that he would have a fraction of a chance at a life that was sustainable and that we, as his parents, would need to make decisions to use extraordinary measures to keep him alive or to discontinue care so that he would die. I held his tiny, warm body, just seconds after going through the physical experience of his delivery, seeing how perfect his fingers and toes were, how his face looked just like that of his older brother and watched as nurses put a stethoscope to his chest to confirm a heartbeat. I heard the paediatrician tell me that there was nothing more that they could do for him and that we could hold him as he painlessly succumbed to his tiny body, lungs that could not breathe, his brain deprived of oxygen would stop sending messages for his heart to continue.
I sat with a funeral director and discussed burial versus cremation, picked out flowers, wrote a service, created a headstone and picked out a spot in a cemetery. I watched the tiny white casket carried from the funeral car by my husband, sit above the small rectangular hole dug into the ground while we described his short life to friends and family who never had the opportunity to see or hold him.
I know what day I found out I was pregnant, the day that I found out things would forever change, the day he was due and the day he was born. I knew the year that he should have started kindergarten and I will know when it is the year that he should be graduating.
I am not stuck in my grief, but his little life rides side care to mine. I am constantly reminded where he is not. He was my child, dreamt years before his conception, grown in my womb, born into my arms and taken from my heart. His age only matters to the theorists and studies that believe that impact is measurable through technology and science, to me a future without him start at his birth and will last my lifetime.

Missing Flynn

2010-11-04T12:59:00.000-04:00

The thing about grief is, even if you think that you are coping and your grief is a part of the past, so much so that at times it seems unrelatable to the present, it can and will still knock you on your ass.
Not to say that these waves of grief are not predictable. As you become more familiar with your vulnerabilities and triggers, you become more aware of when a grief burst will hit. But even if you can see it coming, it is unavoidable, you are going to face it and it is going to hurt.
When I am tired, not eating and sleeping properly, maybe starting on a cold and creating more stress in an already stressful situation, that is when I am most susceptible to feeling a grief burst.
Right now, full time at school, new situation, new roles and responsibilities, I am definitely run down and under more pressure than usual. Add to that the fact that Kinley is turning three, there does not appear to be room for another child in our family right now, and lets face it I am not getting any younger and you have created my perfect storm of emotion.
I feel similar to how I did right after Flynn died too, noticing every pregnant woman at school, in the grocery store, on Facebook! I obsessively look through pictures of newborns and dream about what it would be like to hold a baby again.
Then I realize how different I would feel if Flynn were alive. How I might feel more complete if he were here right now. Eight years old, filling up our all boy clan, contributing to my parenting woes, that although I complain about them I secretly love being needed and loved by my boys. What if he were here, how would I be different, how would our family be and feel?
All this thinking about what could be has made me sad, realizing how much I missed getting the opportunity to know our second son. To see what sports he would be into, to meet his friends, to help him with his school work, to break up fights with his brothers and to hear about his wishes and dreams.
Today I cannot think about the fact that if he were here my path would look different too. I most likely would not be in school pursuing a degree in social work and specializing in the study of grief and bereavement. Today I just need to miss him and I do.

Anticipation

2010-09-14T21:05:00.000-04:00

What can I say about anticipation?
Well first of all it depends what you are anticipating. Anticipation of a dreaded event or anxiously awaiting a special day may have similar physical and psychological symptoms. There may be the nervousness, the sleepless nights, appetite issues (both eating and not), and the unfocused energy, but ultimately dreaded anticipation and eager anticipation could not be more different. Afterall the outcome is either rewarding or difficult.

This post is about the dreaded anticipation. Knowing that a date is looming, one that you hoped would never come or one that marks an anniversary of a date you wish you could forget. This type of anticipation produces its own neurosis and this summer has been filled with that type of anticipation for me.

I recently decided to leave my job (which I thoroughly enjoy) to complete my degree and pursue my Masters. Something that my readers may think would or should be exciting, new and an anxiously awaited event. Well reader, to my surprise it was anything but. Announcing my decision to leave work and pursue my education was the first dreaded anticipation. That one admittedly was short, the decision and the announcement were only a week apart but once the announcement was made fear set it, almost immediately. Each day at work became a realization that I was even closer to my last day and that I would need to embrace a new endeavour, I was leaving something I understood and did well, this was a completely new lifestyle and my family was counting on me to be a success.
IN fact my family was putting their complete faith in me to succeed. This was not their idea, for me to return to school, I had to ask them to buy into this pursuit too.

Anticipation of my last day of work led to sleepless nights, nausea, heart burn, headaches, every physical symptom that can leave you feeling battered, bruised and doubting the initial decision to leave. Every day I wanted to throw in the towel, continue on the road I had been travelling. Stick with the job I was comfortable at, continue the role that I had started, knowing full well that this job would limit my future opportunities in my field. Anticipation was overshadowing rational thinking. Somedays it even took over for the rational side of my brain all together, leaving me bartering with myself to try to juggle a full time job, full time school, motherhood and a marriage, really who was I kidding?
As the last week of work approached I started with panic attacks, forseeing an unrealistic amount of expectations and workload looming on my desk. Whether real or fictional I began to believe that the anxiety I was feeling could be alleviated if I just decided to stay. I began to question my ability as a student, as a future social worker, even convincing myself that any education or ability that I had already obtained was all for not, because I could not do it.
And then the last day came.
I showed up to work at regular time, did my regular work, had regular conversations, maybe a couple of conversations were out of the ordinary because they were discussing my departure. Ultimately though, my day was regular. Nothing horrible happened. I went home that night and everything about that day felt the same as the day before.
Actually that is not completely true, the day did have a couple of abnormal moments. I felt some residual grief. I think I said Flynn's name in reference to one of my other boys about four times. Maybe that was because this job had so much of Flynn's life invested in it and maybe I felt like a part of me was being left behind. I did find it hard to concentrate on one thing for too long, my mind needed a break. I could also feel my emotions closer to the surface ready to spring forth if given an opportunity. It was all manageable though, I recognized that I needed to be patient with myself and allow for whatever my spirit needed that day and I got through it.

So the last dreaded anticipation surrounded the first day of school. The big unknown, the thing that I have given up so much to pursue and complete. That day was today. It started with my dog having an accident in my bedroom at 6am in the morning and I could have taken that as a sign of a bad day to come but I got up and decided that it was a good time to start my daily workout. I got that done before my boys were even out of bed. I got them off to school and before I knew it I was late leaving the house and had to change my plans to get a coffee on the way to school. Again considering that this was a dreaded day, it could have really put me in a foul mood, but I knew that I could do without until class was over and that I would feel much more confident if I was in class early.
I made it to class, with ten minutes to spare and when I looked around the classroom I realized that I did not look any different than my classmates, we were all nervously checking over our books, rearranging our pencils. That is when I appreciated this minor journey in my bigger path. I could do this, I could overcome the anxiety in anticipation and when I recognized that I began to appreciate that I had arrived. I was a student and what a powerful and motivating feeling that left me with for the remainder of today.

Anticipation is a journey that is met so many times in grief. Anticipation of a death, or of a milestone, like a birthday, due date, etc. Anticipation is overwhelming around anniversaries, especially the first after the death. I have always said that anticipation is often worse than the day and usually that is true but respecting the anticipation and honouring the emotions that follow can help in making the dreaded day what it needs to be for that person at that time.
Now I am anxiously awaiting my second day of school as a student.... for now.

Coping

2010-07-24T23:38:00.001-04:00

Disclaimer: I truly believe that substance abuse is a serious and important societal and social issue. I do not advocate or condone the use of drugs or alcohol as a mode of coping but I recognize it is a commonly used method. It was a part of my journey and in order to remain authentic to my experience it is a part of this blog.

In grief we discover coping mechanism that help us to manage the day to day, relationships, the memories and the pain that follow the death of someone we love. Some coping mechanisms are healthy and help us to work on our grief while others can create complications, even compound the grief and send us backward in the journey. The mechanisms themselves are not static, they are fluid and they change and adapt as our journey progresses. They are the foundation of our resiliency.

My coping mechanisms have changed with my grief experience. They have provided me with an outlet, relief and at times, additional stress.
Flynn died in May and because of legislation in Ontario surrounding maternity leave I was entitled to 17 weeks from work. This provided me with a reprieve from the chaos of my workplace but also a large amount of time to be home and think. This type of time created an anxiety in me about leaving the house and I found it incredibly debilitating to venture out of the comfort of my space. I was trapped in my little house and confined to our gated backyard. What began as anxiety ended with me in a lawn chair and a cold beer in one hand most of the time.

side note here-I do not even like beer, never have.

It may have been the convenience of beer, the fact that it was Landy's drink of choice, it may have even been the notion that it was different from my norm, but for whatever reason I became comfortable drinking. The conflict for me at the time was that I did not enjoy the chemical change in my brain but I needed the numbing relief from the torment of my thoughts. Beer (alcohol) made the reality of Flynn's death a figment of a dream and the longer my reality was altered the easier it was to convince myself that I was okay.
By midsummer it was becoming difficult to continue the substance alternative to coping. Hangovers were not helpful with a preschooler in the morning and the guilt of responsibility weighed heavy on me. It was becoming expensive to support the amount I consumed in a week and it took more and more beer to keep the pain of the grief at bay. I stopped drinking.

That is when the flood hit, like a tsunami wave that had been building off shore I was hit with all of the emotion, reality and depth of sadness that I had been keeping at a distance. It came in and destroyed all the weak coping mechanisms that I had created and swept them back out to sea. I needed to start again and build myself better this time.
That is when I started writing. Journalling about missing Flynn, about how I was feeling and about what I needed to get through that day. I began to write poetry to let go of the intense sensations that would wash over me. I wrote the story of Flynn's birth just as I had done when Rhys was born and I created a baby book for Flynn as a memorial to his life. Soon writing was not enough, I needed to share the pain of my experience, I began to wonder if I was going crazy or if it was normal to dream of a life I had known so briefly.
I began looking for people to talk to, first in virtual chat rooms and eventually through local bereavement organizations. I told the story of how difficult Flynn had been to conceive, the doctors, the infertility, the drugs. I told people about the five weeks in and out of the hospital, sifting through blood, praying for a heartbeat. I would experience the trauma of his birth, people yelling, doctors talking, an ambulance gernie, my mother crying, my senses numb, his mute cries as I wrapped him in a blanket, the weight of him in my arms, he gripped my finger, and waking up in recovery to the news of his death.
I told his story over and over and my heart, which had fiercely beat against the chest wall when I told Flynn's story for the first time, began to reside deeper in my body again, thudding to a beat less aggressive every time until finally his story became my story and I found comfort in it.
Eventually coping turns into managing and the grief needs less attention. That is when my path intersected with providing support to people experiencing grief. I could be that person that people needed to tell their story to, to validate the love and the life that they had experienced, to remember the death. Flynn's life and death took on a new importance, one beyond being my son, his life created a human connection in the world of grief, a growth and maturity in my journey of life.

The Pit

2010-07-13T02:33:00.000-04:00

The day that Flynn died a cavity opened in my body, a painful dark hole in the centre of my being. I called it the pit. It was such a physical feeling that at times I felt that I could reach into my torso and grab it, hold it but never release it from myself. At the time of Flynn's death I was undernourished, sleep deprived and ravished with grief, I thought I was going crazy, possibly developing a tumor possibly a figment of my challenged mind. I was terrified to tell people, support people, about the physicality of the pit, the emptiness that was not a feeling but a presence.
The location of the pit was exactly in my centre, two inches below my sternum and two inches above my belly button. It was not an organ either, it was too low to be my heart (although that ached) and too high to be my stomach (because that grumbled). It started out the size of an orange, although on any given day it could vary in size from a grapefruit to an apricot and I could feel it in my torso when I moved, breathed or ate. IN fact it was so solid that most days it filled me and I could not eat, it contaminated my insides and made it impossible to want anything more inside. It was the physical feeling of grief that I did not expect or hear about. It created a sense of distress in me that only fed the hollowness of the pit.
With days, weeks and then months of processing the pit ebbed and with a narrative of my story being shared with others who were bereaved the pit began to heal. The hollowness went from the size of an orange pressing on my heart, lungs and stomach to a walnut sized reminder of where I had been and what I had survived. Again the physicality of that pit became the scar tissue that I could touch and feel when I encountered a grief burst or was struck by a trigger. It would ache or pulse just enough to say "I am here."
As I began my work to support other people who experience grief, I began to hear stories of other people's pits. Those physical holes that present themselves in our bodies as a reminder, a painful reality check, a touchstone. It became therapeutic for me and the people who shared their pits to know that this was not a sign of dementia but one more affect of grief on the body and spirit.
My pit shows itself still, eight years later, normally as a growing pain in my journey, a touchstone in reality. But at times, when I am feeling vulnerable, overtired, undernourished, it can feel like scar tissue stretched and exposed to remind me that it is there and I need to take care of me and it.
I used to feel abnormal and terrified of the pit and with time I have come to know it as my gauge of self awareness and self care. The reminder to look after me on this journey. Thank you pit.

Poor Us

2010-05-01T22:30:00.000-04:00

In one of my first posts I introduced you to our dog Copper. In it I referred to him as Poor Copper because inevitably that is what his name turned into after years of witnessing his, at times, impoverished attitude and his ranking in a house full of boys.

This week it has become Poor Us as we made the heartbreaking decision to euthanize Copper after a brief but aggressive encounter with cancer.

As difficult as it was to make that decision, telling our boys added to our grief and weighed on our ability to be rational with regard to Copper's quality of life.We told the boys about Copper's illness and our decision the night before we were taking Copper to the vet. We started the conversation by reading the book "The Forever Dog" and it really helped to start the conversation.
Rhys figured it out half way through the story that we were talking about Copper.
He began to cry and then Ash began to cry. Kinley sensed something because he just clung to me.
Copper feeling overwhelmed by all the boys crying over him, got up and left the room.
Damn dogs ARE as stoic as they say.
After the book we told the boys that Copper had cancer and that it was the type of cancer that the vet could not fix and that Copper would not get better. We told them that we had done blood tests and xrays before we realized that our only choice was to let Copper die. We explained what euthanize meant and told them how Copper would be sedated and then the Vet would give him a drug that made his heart stop, then his lungs would stop and his body would stop working and Copper would die. We told them that once this
happened Copper would not be able to hear, see, sniff, feel and everything that made up Copper would be gone, only his body would be left. Then we told the boys that we were going in the morning as a family but that they could participate as much as they felt comfortable.

Rhys wanted to go to school instead of coming with us to the vet. I gently told Rhys that if he got to school and changed his mind there would be no way to reach us. I did not want to force him but I wanted to make sure that he had the opportunity to change his mind. I told him that he did not have to come into the vet or do anything he was not comfortable with and if after Copper had died he still wanted to go to school we would take him. He did come to the vet and he came in to look at the xrays, where the vet showed all the boys the
cancer and explained that this was the best choice for Copper. Rhys was inconsolable.
Ash thought that he wanted to go in with Copper when they euthanized him but I distracted him with a walk and that is when we had a good talk about death and cremation and he cried on his own without the influence of big brother, I think he needed that (I kept saying "Copper's body" with reference to his death and Ash asked where Copper's head and legs would be.... ).
He also asked me about God and Jesus and why if God made Jesus come alive, why he wouldn't do that for Copper....I think I handled it okay for an agnostic, I told him that the belief is that God created all living things to live and to die.
After Copper was dead I asked the boys if they wanted to see him one more time and they said yes. That was so hard, but I pointed out that Copper was not breathing, he would not open his eyes, he could not feel or hear.
It was overwhelming for both boys, so we only stayed a minute and Ash touched him, but Rhys could not.
Kinley was just toddling around and we thought that he was unaware of what was going on but when we left the vet he started to wail unconsolably "My buddy, My Copper" for about 10 minutes, it was heartbreaking.

As a family we went to Build-A-Bear so that the boys could pick out a teddy or dog that would remind them/or be used to remember Copper. Ash and Rhys picked out their stuffed animal and they both named them Copper and we told them that they could talk to the bear and hug the bear whenever they wanted to. That it could hold the memories of Copper and to help them remember him.
Since Kinley is so little we wanted to get him a dog so it would be easier for him to identify it as a non-verbal object to remember Copper by but he gravitated to a bright blue bear with peace symbols in rainbow colours all over it, what can you do! :)

At this point Ash is telling everyone that his dog died, Rhys would like him to shut up and Kinley says "dog died" out of the blue every couple of hours.
Kinley loves "The Forever Dog" book and takes it everywhere and when he does he will say "Copper died" or "doggy."
Ash is also telling everyone that Copper has a new home and right before I corrected him the first time he said it, he piped up and said "it is in my heart." It seems they are all where they should be.

Landy and I are struggling too. This all feels familiar but different. I am in that memory fog, several times yesterday I looked for Copper and I am sure that I will several more times. I even thought I lost my bracelet and had everyone searching and I was panicked, only to realize today that I took it off a week ago and it was in the case. Oh Grief what a wicked game you play!

The boys have already talked about ways they want to memorialize and we have told them that we will give it some time.

I want to share a nice thing that happened later on the day that we euthanized Copper.
After our trip to Build-A-Bear we went out to our trailer to open it and clean it up. When we drove up Copper's tie up was in the ground beside the big pine with the lead attached, so Landy went to take it out of the ground.
The boys and I went over and right there beside the tie up was a Forget-Me-Not, just one.
I don't know how much you know about this flower but they are wild and they spread like crazy, you usually see a field of them, so to see just one is rare. I told the boys about the flower and they said that Copper must have left it and Rhys would like to plant more there. For the rest of the day it seemed that we saw Forget-Me-Nots everywhere we went... it really helped the boys to look for connections and brought them comfort that as much as they would not forget Copper, he would not forget them.

A Grandma Day

2010-03-17T14:40:00.000-04:00

Three years ago today my grandma died.
As grandma's go mine was pretty special. She loved me so much, (along with my brother and cousins, her children and family) I knew she was always in my corner, she encouraged me to be more and do more and she had confidence in who I was and who I could be. She was a tough lady and sometimes her way of showing her love was hard to appreciate but having overcome so many personal obstacles, if she thought you needed a push, you were getting a push.
In fact the last thing time we spoke, she gave me a push. This time it was to leave her bedside and take the family trip we were leaving on. The day she was put into the hospital was the day we were set to leave for Florida. I was working for the morning and we were leaving at noon and when my dad called to tell me that she was admitted and it did not look good, I did not want to leave. I went up to the hospital to see her, with only a few hours until we were supposed to start our drive. I could not keep from crying, she looked so tiny and so frail and I had to leave the room. My grandpa followed me out and told me that we had to go to Florida, she would not want me to stay. I composed myself and went back into the room, I totally intended on telling my grandma that I was not leaving, she looked at me and said "You need to go on this trip, I have survived this long, I don't know why you are crying, I will be here when you get back." There was no more discussion, no use in fighting, she had said her peace and that was that. I kissed her on the head and told her I loved her and took my boys to Florida.
On Saturday March 17th as we were driving to the Georgia border in the very early hours of the morning, my grandma died surrounded by my parents, my grandpa and my aunt. I was so sad that I was not there with her, I had always thought that would be a moment that she would need me but she needed me to be anywhere but there. I cried when my dad told me she was gone. The tears were a combination of sadness and relief that her tireless fight had come to an end. I also cried in gratitude because I knew that her years of battling illness was for me and all of our family, so that she could remain a fierce presence in our lives.

I had a dream in December of 2006, four months before she died, in it she was dying and we both knew it and she asked to talk to me. When I sat down beside her, she took my hand and told me that she had seen Flynn and that she knew she would hold him soon.
Three years ago my grandma died and since that moment I have appreciated how much she lived.

The Grief Pusher

2010-03-15T18:03:00.002-04:00

You may have met a grief pusher before, you may even be one. It may have happened when you experienced the death of a mutual family member, a friend among a group of friends, or maybe you are the “glue” of the family, where everyone looks to you and you likewise support or advise. When you are surrounded by people who are experiencing the same death and also grieving, it seems a natural reaction to pull them along to where we are with our own grief, or push them past where we have been.

When Flynn died, I became the grief pusher in my relationship with Landy. I was keen, eager to educate myself on our death experience, on government support plans, on grief and available support. I joined several chat rooms, called counseling agencies and contacted local bereavement support groups. I told my story over and over again, found comfort in websites with mothers who had common experiences to mine, talked to counselors about the depth of the sadness, my parenting skills (which felt non-existent) and the strain on my marriage. I did everything that I knew to do to try to beat this grief thing before it could get the best of me in fact everything that I have listed above occurred in the first four months after Flynn died. I did say I was keen.

A week after Flynn died, Landy went back to work. He was in a physically demanding job that kept him away from home long hours and sometimes weekends as well. I could not believe he was ready to go back to work already, when I could hardly get out of bed. I decided he was suppressing his grief that was the only way.

When he got home from work, I welcomed the end of a very isolating day, someone to help with parenting 3 year old Rhys, someone to talk to about all the thoughts and feelings that had tormented my thinking and kept me from leaving the house. When Landy got home from work, he wanted to take off his work clothes, shower and “turn off” his mind. He wanted to play with Rhys, maybe watch TV or go for a walk, he wanted to talk with me and share our days but not if that talk was about Flynn.

I wanted so desperately to talk to Landy about how I was feeling, to share what conclusions I had made about Flynn’s death, about our future, about how to parent a grieving preschooler. We were in this together, we had this common experience, a son whom we both loved and whom we both buried. To me it only made sense that we should be grieving together, talking and crying together and when Landy wanted no part of my grief, I really started suspecting that he was not grieving properly or at all. That is when the grief pushing started.

Instead of crying alone, at home during the day, I began calling Landy when I cried, while he was at work or on the road to share the emotions I was struggling with. I started printing out the conversations from the websites with other moms, with the thought that they validated my tears and grief. I would wake Landy in the middle of the night when my insomnia hit, letting him know how hard it was to sleep and how lonely the night time was for me. I begged him to share with me, to tell me how he was struggling to let me know when he felt the worst or when he cried. If he had an answer to any of these questions, I was elated, feeling like we were doing this grief thing together, but if he hadn’t struggled that week, if he didn’t want to share, I wondered if we were doomed or if his suppression would lead to “issues” down the road.

Wanting to share and grieve together turned into pressure to be the same. My crying turned into pleading and my phone calls turned into accusations that Landy was void of feelings. Instead of wanting Landy to share, I wanted him to hurt in a way that made my hurt feel like it was normal. I began to equate my amount of grief to his lack of grief and surmise that his love for our son or me was not comparable to my love for both of them. I began to push grief on him, force him to grieve or admit to not feeling, there seemed to be no other option. He would never get over the grief if he didn’t even face it in the first place.

It was in our support group through Bereaved Families of Ontario (BFO) that I finally heard the words, everyone’s grief is unique. In fact they told me that no two people, no matter the relationship to the deceased, will grieve the same way. A mother and father may experience the death of the same child, but they will grieve a unique relationship to that child that will be impacted by who they are as individuals. What looks like grief on one person will not look the same on someone else. It opened my eyes to what I had been trying, with best intentions, to do to Landy. To make him grieve the way that was familiar to me, to make him grieve like I would grieve.

After hearing about grief at BFO I decided that I owed Landy an apology for months of pushing grief. On a car ride to nowhere I told him how wrong I had been to force his grief to look like mine. I told him that I realized that whether he wanted to talk or cry, to work or to stay home that I had no right to tell him how to grieve his son. After my apology we had the first real conversation in months, it was on that car ride that he told me the hardest time of the day for him was when he was driving. The road into work and home he was alone with his thoughts of Flynn, of what could have been and of the family that was grieving the emptiness left by our baby boy. In the car, with songs on the radio and no-one to talk to or talking to him, Landy’s mind wondered to the grief and sadness over our loss and at times, he told me he would just cry for the half hour it took to make the drive. It was nice to know that we both felt the loss, even if it did not look the same.

A sense of Pride

2010-02-27T09:08:00.000-05:00

While other countries report that the Vancouver Olympics have been filled with controversy, tragedy and technical difficulties, my family and our nation knows that they have been a source of inspiration, a daily touchstone and a healthy and modest dose of pride. For me the Olympics have been a welcome surprise that has transcended barriers in age, opinion and interest for our family. In fact the Olympics has provided the first time that our family has shared a sense of excited awe day in and day out for almost two weeks! I do not remember an instance in the past ten years, when, as a family, we have engaged, discussed and watched something where we were all equally invested.

It is difficult if not virtually impossible to find something that a 2, 5 and 10 year old child would find commonly interesting and yet an Olympic sport has had them all sitting attentively invested in a national outcome. In fact the 5 and 10 year old have taken it upon themselves to teach the 2 year old the Canadian cheer. At any given time around our house you can hear choruses of AAHHHH, OHHHH Canada Go in voices ranging from broken toddler to giddy kindergartener to maturing kid and even sometimes the odd adult. As a parent it is the type of comradery that you can only wish for but rarely see come to fruition and yet here in my living room I watch three boys hush as the puck drops or a snowboarder jumps and cheer for their country to bring home the gold.

It is not just our children’s eagerness for metal counts and Olympic greatness that keeps the family attuned to the events and news of the Canadian teams. As adults, my husband and I are also invested in the national pride, the dreams of the Olympians, stories of success and the overcoming of obstacles. We are acutely aware that this Olympics has brought us together as a family with a sense that we are watching history being made. As a family our own moments are being created simultaneously as we root for team Canada. We are all there to cheer, to hope and to dream of the possibilities that lie ahead for our Olympians and for Canada.

The winter Olympics has given us many teaching moments with our children about challenges, success and even tragedy and installed in us a sense of pride, a national spirit that is invaluable in the building of identity. In our family room, together in a common goal, we are able to discuss and encourage our children to dream, to strive for greatness and then show them that it can be achieved on a world platform. The winter Olympics has provided a bond between siblings and as parents a bridge of communication and common interest to our children. A place where our quest for gold is shared with a nation, creating memories on the west coast of Canada and on a couch in our family room where it will be remembered for many years to come.

This blog was inspired by encouragement from a fantastic friend, Nicola, check out her blog at http://mammyp.blogspot.com

Today and Grief

2010-02-22T08:49:00.004-05:00

I have felt a little stuck lately on what to write about. This blog is definitely about grief and the day to day, but I don't want to be giving advice, I wanted to talk about walking the walk, how the journey continues and at times I have found that a particularly hard thing to do (write about it, and walk it).
There are all different types of coping methods to make the grief manageable and at times you need to change them, reinvest in them because the grief changes as does the journey.
Flynn died 8 years ago in May, but right now, where I am in my journey, this all feels surreal. Not like the shock of the news in 2002 but more like an old movie that I have not watched in a long time, where at times I forget a good deal of the plot and only snippets can be pulled from the recesses of my brain. I am not forgetting Flynn and I am not afraid of that, after all I would not have veered off my life path, to who I am today, if it were not for his birth, but I am somewhere where I do not need to touch the pain of him as often. I am at peace with his notable absence from my everyday and as with all movements in the grief journey it is not static, what I am comfortable with on year 8 may look very different on year 10.
I encounter my grief everyday because it became a part of my life a long time ago, but right now it tends to be like the one breath in a day that I hold for a second before letting it out. A thought of my grandmother's hands or a flicker of Montreal with my friend or the weight of a heavy arm, warm and tangible under Flynn's weight. Just a second and then it is gone and in the past it would be followed by hours of sorrow or pulling at memories, right now it is followed by a small smile as I move through the rest of my day. I am comfortable with my grief, if I need it, it is there to remind me, to ground me, but here in year 8, in my journey it is in the peripheral and not in the road straight ahead.

I am Sorry

2010-01-21T19:12:00.001-05:00

“I am sorry”

Whether at the hospital, a visitation, the funeral, or following a conversation surrounding death, this phrase is one that grieving people often encounter. For some, “I am sorry” is meaningful and received with the good will that is intended, but for others this statement feels like an incomplete or insincere sentiment. Of course it is not for lack of sincerity on the part of the person expressing their sympathy, the griever’s reaction or feeling toward “I am sorry” is usually due to numerous people using this phrase to express sympathy and the ambiguous nature of “I am sorry”.

The word sorry if defined by a dictionary can mean “to be grieved or sad” but it can also be an expression of regret. When sorry is used in conjunction with “I am” we do not typically think of the sentiment meaning “I am sad” we think of it meaning “I am regretful” or “I am apologizing”. This can be very confusing to a bereaved person as statements are often taken very literally and are not interpreted but taken as they are conventionally used. So “I am sorry for your loss” can be literally interpreted to mean “I regret your loss” or “I apologize for your loss” which places ownership for death that is not possibly your responsibility.

I have heard people counter to the well intentioned sentiment “What are you sorry for?” leaving the message giver feeling misinterpreted, defensive and often hurt and the receiver of the message often feeling the same.

So why do we continue to say “I am sorry” to comfort someone who has experienced a death or trauma? Possibly because as a community this phrase has been used for generations to express sympathy, we have heard our families use “I am sorry” when they run up against grief? We could feel uncomfortable with death and grief and use the common expression to deter from our own feelings surrounding death or it could be that we just do not know what else to say?

There are other options to “I am sorry.” Using words that sincerely communicate your feelings like “I am sad for you,” “I cannot imagine what you are feeling right now,” or “I hope you are gentle with yourself and take the time that you need.”

People that are experiencing grief really need to feel supported and sincere emotion and sentiment are important to them. It is okay to say “I do not know what to say,” if that is truly how you feel. And if “I am sorry” is your statement of comfort, that is okay too, just some food for thought next time you encounter grief or death.

Our First Christmas

2009-12-23T21:13:00.003-05:00

In an earlier post on handling the holidays, there was advice on how to take care during this particularly stressful season. Although I believe the list of coping strategies, they were not all authentically mine. I wanted to take this opportunity to post how I coped with the holidays, the first year after Flynn's death.
Flynn was born in May and by the time December came around I believed I was coping with his death and could handle this family- oriented time of year. We had Rhys at home after all and he was three and a half, needing our undivided attention and fully aware of the promise of presents that this season brings.
As I began to prepare for the holidays, with decorations and festivities it became evident to me that something did not feel right. I did not know how to feel happy when we did not have Flynn with us; the year prior on Boxing Day was when we found out that we were pregnant with him, that along with pregnant family and friends surrounding us, the holidays were beginning to feel unbearable.
Our family no longer talked about Flynn; in fact I felt like I discussed him too much as discomfort crossed the face of my loved ones. Although Flynn lived for only a short time; the previous year during my pregnancy with him was how I landmarked my life. The only way to bring up an event was to position it in relation to my pregnancy or his death. I felt that any conversation with me must be depressing and therefore I did not say much, the holiday events became a source of anxiety as I struggled with how to politely smile and nod through conversations without creating despair.
I soon recognized that I could not make Flynn a part of the larger family holiday, I needed to make him a part of our small family's traditions and I went about figuring how to do that.
We have a custom in our family, we get an ornament for our tree when a child is born and I decided that Flynn needed one for our tree. I went about the difficult task of finding one that had meaning, was hopeful but not whimsically proclaiming "Baby's First Christmas!" I did not find anything and when I felt defeated and like it was an impossible task I received the Willow Tree "Angel of Comfort" from my aunt. It was not meant to be an ornament for a tree but when I got it, I knew that was exactly what it would be for our family. I wrote Flynn's name and birth date on the bottom of the figurine and hung it on the tree. I also bought one for my parent's and my husband's parents for their trees.
After finding the ornament I truly believed I would find some peace during the holidays but I did not, in fact I was feeling swallowed, isolated and depressed by my grief. What I really wanted was to be buying gifts for our son, hanging a stocking with his name on it, waking him to find gifts under the tree that his older brother would open for him. I did not know how to reconcile his death and the holidays.
At work they were having a toy drive for children in need, I had not been paying attention and then a friend asked me if I was going to donate to the Angel Tree? I was not sure that I heard her correctly, the Angel Tree? It turns out that was the name of the campaign and you could pick an angel off of the tree with a child's gender and age and buy an appropriate toy.
I went to the tree and the very first angel that I took off said "Boy, age 0" and that is when I knew that this was how I would honour Flynn during the holidays.
Since that holiday seven years ago, this tradition has evolved to include a toy for boys the same ages as ALL my boys and I involve the whole family in picking the gifts. For me it is the way to make meaning of a difficult time of the year and give to families who need a little help believing in the season just as I did the first year after Flynn's death.
I honour Flynn with a gift for a child in need and in turn it makes the holidays meaningful for my family in Flynn's memory.

Rest in Peace Frosty

2009-12-23T20:57:00.003-05:00

I drove into my driveway after work last week, grabbed my things from the van and walked to the end of the drive to gather our recycling bins. It was there that I was met by an interesting sight. At the end of my driveway, as the picture shows, was a snowy grave built by Ash and Rhys.
While "most" children are building Frosty, his wife and children; my children have built a homage to his inevitable death.
This made me reflect on how capable I am of keeping my work at work? I know that I never talk about my families that I support at the kitchen table or at all really (I am not adverse to discussing death with the boys, I just happen not to discuss work).
It turns out that whether I talk about it or not, my boys know that death is a part of our family, what I do, who they are, and although the neighbours may be uncomfortable with Frosty's resting place out front, my children are quite comfortable, even proud of their creative creation and honestly so am I.

Grief and the Holidays

2009-12-10T19:39:00.007-05:00

The Holiday Season is fast approaching and it can be a very difficult time when a loved one has died. We are bombarded with images and announcements proclaiming this time of year as joyous, one surrounded by family and friends, a time to celebrate and these sentiments can be particularly hard when we are "Anything But Merry."
Traditions and rituals at this time can lose their meaning, especially when the person that made the traditions special is no longer a part of them. This year we put together a list to make handling the holidays easier and I wanted to share it here:

1. Skipping the holidays is likely not an option, you need to prepare and face them squarely. Make plans that you know you can do and that make you comfortable.

2. Focus on this holiday first. I always say "Do not add future griefs to the present ones." Don't look forward to all the holidays to come. Adding pressure to this holiday by worrying about the other special days, is added stress you do not need.

3. Think about ways to honour the memory of your loved one during the holiday. Whether it is beginning a new tradition or carrying on an old one, make your loved one a part of your celebration.

4. There are always unrealistic expectations during the holidays. They can come from family and friends or they can be expectations that we put on ourselves. Recognize what these expectations are and in doing that you can decide what you can or cannot do. Accept what is normal for you.

5. Take care of yourself. Holidays usually mean extra fatigue, drinking, partying and visiting. By making yourself a priority you will partake in festivities that you have the energy for and let the other activities wait for another year.

6. Remember that you are grieving. You will feel joy, pain and bittersweet memories. Let them come.

7. Plan ahead. Make lists, put events on the calendar, have "escape" plans. Take advantage of your good days, get things done on the to-do list, stay in on the bad days and rejuvenate.

8. Let yourself cry when you need to. You will not ruin the holiday for yourself or for others. Do what comes naturally for you. Holding in your emotions can be destructive.

9. It may be helpful to set limits. Let others know what you need and how they can best help you. Don't be forced into doing something because someone else thinks that you should.

10. Give yourself permission to have joyful times as well as mournful times. They are normal, not a betrayal.

11. Discuss your holiday traditions with your family. Decide what to keep, what to change and what to discard.

12. Make your goals small. Don't over-commit yourself. Take it slow and easy.

13. Go over your plans. Why are you doing them? For you or for someone else?

14. Do something for someone else. Even though you are feeling sad because of your loved ones death, reaching out to others can often bring you a certain holiday peace.

15. Lastly remember that it will not always be this way, this year is about doing the best that you can, with you in mind, for you.

Pardon, what did you say?

2009-12-10T15:09:00.009-05:00

People say sympathetic things with the best intention and as a griever it can be hard to recognize that although the words are anything but appropriate the intention is meant to be caring and helpful.

I started to see a chiropractor a month ago and as a new patient in his practice, we had to do an initial consultation. At my first visit we went over my medical history, how many children I have, how many pregnancies, stresses in my life, etc. and during this consultation I explained Flynn's life and death and also my occupation. He was very kind and empathetic, I appreciated that and because of his demeanor felt that this would be a good relationship to aid in my physical well being.
I went for an appointment a week ago after seeing him 2-3 times a week for 3 weeks. We have seen each other so much over the past 3 weeks that we are on a first name basis and I recognized right away that he seemed off of his game and not his normal chipper self. During the treatment he asked me about the emerald ring I wear and whether it was my birth stone and when I told him that it was actually for Flynn and it was his birth stone, he seemed completely flabbergasted. He apologized, told me how sorry he was to hear of my son's death and asked how it happened. I was equally surprised by his lack of memory but chalked it up to a bad day and told him again how Flynn had died due to his premature birth. He responded with "well there must have been a reason."
Humpf!
I felt totally deflated and disappointed. After hearing this response several hundred times over the past 8 years I have come to appreciate the underlying intent of "a reason" but that night any "reason" for my son's death was lost to me. I stared dumbfounded, had my treatment and went home.
The week in between the appointments I was tormented with thoughts of my conversation with my chiropractor. I also recalled, with a sense of irony, that I had left my original chiropractor soon after Flynn's death for saying the exact same thing. Was I destined to live without a back adjustment due to "reason"?
I had to believe that I was in a different place with my grief now, a place of growth and the opportunity to educate. I decided that at my next appointment I would talk to my chiropractor and tell him how "a reason" could negatively impact someone. I would make positive suggestions for dialogue surrounding news of a death that could help him approach it more delicately in the future.

I went into my appointment and before the treatment began I gently tried to start the conversation:
"I just wanted to let you know that last week when I was here we discussed my son's death and I could tell you were having an off day so when we discussed it you had said that there must have been a reason..."

This is where he broke into my explanation and said "What were we talking about last week? I don't remember a discussion?" (or something to that affect)

So thrown off, I tried a different approach:
"Because I work in grief support and helping people manage and cope with grief I sometimes see opportunities to support the community in how to help the griever and when you said that there must be a reason for my son's death (last week) it threw me off because there was a time when that statement has or would have upset me, I just wanted to let you know that when someone has experienced a death, a "reason" may not bring them comfort and "I" statements can be much more comfortable like "I cannot imagine what you are going through...""

He broke in again and said:

"You know I can be really sarcastic and rude and someone will think what I said is hilarious and laugh along and then I take time and try to say something thoughtful and someone can be totally offended, I am sorry if what I said upset you but I won't say the right thing all the time."

Stunned.
I nodded my head at this point, had the treatment and mentally noted to myself that I would not be returning to this chiropractor either. It seems that even 8 years on my grief journey and I can still be affected by the sympathetic yet inappropriate things that people say.

A Day To Remember

2009-11-24T19:54:00.004-05:00

There are so many days that trigger grief after the death of a beloved person in our life. Some days seem predictable like a birthday, anniversary or date of death but other days seem to come out of nowhere, sneak up on us and catch us unaware and unprepared. The first year after my son died I prepared for the predictable days like his due date (the day he should have been born) or the dreaded Mother's Day and Father's Day, days that I knew would be more difficult to celebrate. The days that I was not prepared for were days like New Years Eve, (leaving the year that Flynn had been born and died seemed unbearable) or my birthday that year because it reminded me that I was a year older and yet my infant son would never celebrate a birthday or blow out a candle. These unassuming days became days when my grief sideswiped me and knocked me off of my feet (on my birthday that year I did not answer the phone or allow anyone to wish me a "Happy Birthday"). They were days that the people around me did not recognize as triggers and yet how could they? I was just as unaware that any day could be a grief day no matter how far past the death I was. Acknowledging that these days exist and being gentle with ourselves to take the time that we need will help to recover from the days that knock us off our feet.
There are also the days that we can see coming and they need our attention too. I always talk to my families about "the plan," the preparation that they can make for the upcoming day that they appreciate will be hard. Knowing how they want to spend the anniversary of the death, for example, can make that day a little more bearable. It can help to ease the anticipation of that date (which is usually much worse than the day itself) and giving permission to scrap all plans if they just seem too hard, once that day comes, is also a good way to manage what these triggers have in store. Having a plan can mean many things; from finding a way to memorialize your loved one, to planning something for just you, to doing nothing and giving yourself permission to do nothing. I tell my families to take time to think about what they want to do, to make it realistic for their energy level and commitment and to have appropriate expectations for themselves and the people surrounding them (for example if it is the first anniversary and family is involved in the day, they may not be make the same commitment for years to come and will that be okay?).
Remember that these days are hard because they remind us of the death and how much we miss and love those who have died. The day will pass and hopefully the moments that we remember our loved one will bring us some comfort on these hard days.

The Importance of Self Care

2009-11-04T11:47:00.003-05:00

Just a short blog.
I think it is so important to incorporate self care into your daily, weekly, monthly and yearly routine!
It is amazing how often we put ourselves and our cherished loved ones last on our list of priorities for work, for that promotion, for that better way of life, for that education, that prestigious degree because it is for them, they will appreciate all the things we can give them, that these things will afford. But where are they in the equation? Where are we?
Usually we are exhausted, running on little sleep, poor nutrition, a sense of panic at the fast paced life we are trying to navigate. We are not even in the equation and the loved ones we do it for, they would rather have us with them then the things that we could give them. Of course with age comes wisdom and our priorities change, but why not now?
It warms my heart when someone decides to put them self and the person/people they love first, to prioritize self care, to seize the moments we have!
I know why we work hard, strive for better, compete against ourselves and against time. But it needs to be balanced we need to take time for holidays, unscheduled days off, quiet moments because those are the days that will be remembered.
Bora Bora sounds beautiful and I hope above all hope that the sun and beach can be enjoyed and will be a cherished memory.

H1N1 and the lack of Blog

2009-11-04T10:58:00.002-05:00

Until SARS hit Toronto it was hard to fathom what a pandemic truly meant. Since the 1918 influenza pandemic our country has not experienced the life threatening panic of a strain of flu that indiscriminately spreads and possibly brings death to those infected. Of course until SARS I did not even know that there had been a pandemic in 1918 that killed approximately 50,000 Canadians, most of whom were between the age of 20-40.
Call it naive or ignorant, our mortality seemed protected by our intellect, good hygiene, as well as accessibility to a great medical system, I think it may have been a combination of both!
Now we as a society are hypersensitive. We seem to be a culture of extremes, either we completely ignore possibilities or we focus on every minute possibility and panic over these rarities to point of neurosis and the media feeds this neurosis with stories that are written as the common experience rather than the outlying possibilities. I am talking about H1N1!
I am not saying that we should not be aware, to practice good hand washing, to stay home when sick, but I am saying that not every sniffle is life threatening, not every fever will result in a diagnosis of H1N1 and even if it does, it does not mean that the influenza will result in life threatening conditions. I am more concerned about some of the irrational panic then I am the flu.
I had a very sick little boy last week, he had fevered for days. After 4 days of fever we had called Telehealth with his symptoms and were reassured it was just croup. After a week of fever we took him to the hospital and there we were told that it was the flu (not H1N1) and that we would have to wait it out. When friends and family found out that he was sick, I started getting emails about the difference between H1N1 and the flu, I had people suggesting that he might have the dreaded influenza, all with the best intention of course, but it kept me aware and as much as I tried to remain level headed about his condition, panic was taking over my thoughts, my sleep, my dreams. When the thirteen year old boy died in Toronto, I received several calls, emails pointing out this piece of news, making me feel like I was not advocating enough for my son's health, or that I was missing something. It made me feel horrible.
I feel for that family, the parents and the brother of that young man, how untimely and sad, and by the sounds of the reports they did what they could, they took him to the hospital, they had him rest but something went wrong for him and tragically he died. It is important to be cautious with this influenza because like any flu, it can result in death, but his story was written by the media to create panic, it was written to make this influenza appear a death sentence and what it has done is created a burdened medical system; hospitals are experiencing 12 hour waits, clinics are closing the doors half way through the day to accommodate all the people in their wait rooms and even Telehealth has a two hour wait to talk with a nurse.
I think we need to be aware, keep up with our good hygiene, stop pushing our kids to go to school when they are sick, stay home ourselves when we are ill, but we should not overreact, start diagnosing ourselves with H1N1, start panicking that we are all doomed, stop buying in to the way the media packages the info surrounding this flu.
My son ended up having pneumonia as a side effect of the flu he had and with antibiotics he is 100% better. When I said to the doctor that at least it was pneumonia and not H1N1, he pointed out that pneumonia is just as and sometimes more serious and he was right. I was being blindly affected by the media and I needed to tune my awareness to the present and not the possibilities. I do have to thank H1N1 because the panic sent me back to the doctors on the 10th day of fever only to get the pneumonia diagnosis in time, for that I am thankful.

Celebration of Life, really?

2009-10-18T10:02:00.003-04:00

This is going to be a bit of rant. I will try to make it a gentle rant. There is a new wave of expectations surrounding funerals and grief and mourning in our society and the after affects of it are walking through my office on a daily basis. It is something we don't think about until we ourselves are affected by it. I hope this rant will get the conversation flowing about death, funerals and the realities of grief and mourning.
Have you ever been to a funeral where everyone was telling everyone else that it was not a funeral but a celebration of life? Did you look around that room, was everyone celebrating?
Have you ever experienced the death of someone where the family decided not to do a funeral and said they would do a memorial sometime down the road? And you are still waiting for it to happen? Was the next gathering filled with conversation about the deceased?
Have you ever said to your family and friends that when you die you don't want people to be sad, you want everyone to have a great time and remember you?
Have you ever said that when you die, you do not want a funeral or memorial, you just want to be buried and be done with it?
The above scenarios have happened to me, in fact, I have said some of the things that I listed above, with the best intentions of course, not realizing the hurt that I potentially caused or will cause.
Death is an inevitable part of life, but it is distinct from life as life (as we know it) has ceased. When we make a funeral a celebration of life, we take the death out of it in our wording, in our avoidance and in our mannerisms. We are a death denying society and even in our funerals we are denying death. A funeral is a ceremony to acknowledge the life (yes) but also the death of that person and give people an opportunity to acknowledge that that person has died through seeing the dead person's body or casket (I will keep opinions on that out of here) and to begin grieving that person's death. By saying we are celebrating it can make people feel weak or wrong to not feel ready to be joyful or happy and that in turn starts the message that grief and mourning are a sign of weakness and are wrong.
So you can imagine the impact on a community when there is no funeral, memorial service, nothing to give family, friends or the community time to acknowledge the death of someone that they cared about. Immediate family is overwhelmed with shock, possibly the dying person them self had expressed that they did not want anything after they died, making the family feel that they should honour this wish. It is so important to recognize that as much as we love that person in our family a funeral/memorial is not for the deceased person, it is for the family, friends and community that need to grieve and mourn and recognize that the death has happened. It is a time that they can express their love for that person and how they contributed to their life. It is part of their healing, coping and managing the grief and for the immediate family it can be so helpful to hear the love and stories of the person that died where mourning can be expressed and is accepted.
So then why do we say this to our family and friends? Why do we want them to love and care for us but not to grieve or remember us? I know that is not really what we want, we probably do not recognize what we are taking away from them. When we tell them that we do not want them to be sad we are again attributing weakness to grief and mourning. Grief is as natural to a relationship as love is and as necessary as breathing.
And do not take the ceremony away from the death. People need to acknowledge death, to help them make sense of it, to accept its reality and to begin to grieve. More than just the immediate family; friends, co-workers and the community need an opportunity to acknowledge, share and grieve as well. Without a ceremony they may never get the chance to talk or remember that person or they may not feel that it is wanted. By the way if they really need the opportunity to talk and grieve that person, next family gathering, next big event will turn into a mini memorial event when you least expect or even want it. People need the opportunity to normalize and recognize death.
So a final thought. Funerals/memorials do not need to cost an arm and a leg. It does not have to be about how much money you put into the after life (unless that is a cultural custom), it needs to be a time and opportunity soon after the death when the community can come together and grieve and mourn together the death of that person they cared for and loved.

The End of Baby Days Dilema

2009-10-05T08:14:00.005-04:00

Kinley is going to be two in November. When he was born Landy and I had the discussion of whether or not he was our last child. We both decided that we would wait until Kinley turned one to make a decision. When Kinley turned one, neither of us were ready to make that choice. I was not ready to be pregnant again but I was not convinced that we were finished having children. Landy on the other hand said he was not sure he wanted any more children but the mention of vasectomy turned him green in the gills. He said that he was not set against another child and that he had been done having children after Rhys and absolutely done after Flynn (Thanks Land!).
I have always wanted a large family, I don't know if I ever defined what large was, but I knew it was more than two children. Being at family Christmas where there is six boys always seemed comforting and such a blessing and although I do not intend on having six children I do believe that one more child would bless this family and complete this house.

When I have talked about children and having babies with my girlfriends everyone of them said that they knew when they were done, when they were ready to hang up the pregnancy days and concentrate on growing those babies into children. I have not had that feeling, that "this is it" moment. Of course maybe I am naive and that moment does not come for everybody, I do not intend to continue to have children indefinitely. I understand the financial responsibility, overpopulation and the affect on the family dynamic. I think my baby days are numbered. Frankly it makes me very sad. I am not even convinced that I need to have another pregnancy, the thought of adopting has been one that I have been considering as of late as well. I love my children, we have the space and the love to provide a family to a child.
I am also quite aware that this may just be the hole that was left after Flynn died, the fourth child that we do not get to hold again. I realize that if he were here we would be done having children.
I have a time line in my head. A length of time that if it passes and we have not had another baby then we are finished and the decision has biologically been made for us or an adoption is out of the question. I just wish that I had that internal moment, like my girlfriends when I look at my family and know that there are no more children.
Landy has left the decision in my hands (again thanks Land) and if I felt it were completely up to me, I know that I would want to have another child biological or adopted. I guess I need to give this one more time, to work itself out. I envy my friends who just know.

Happy 12th Wedding Anniversary (the day after)

2009-09-27T18:03:00.002-04:00

It boggles the mind to think that 12 years (and one day) has passed since we said "I DO!"
There is something funny about writing this blog today. Yesterday would have been more appropriate and yet yesterday I could not write this blog and it is because of yesterday that I appreciate 12 years of growing together.

Friday night Landy and I attended a wine and tapas party, it was great food and conversation with friends, a much needed night out in a house of six boys. Before I knew it I had had a phenomenal amount of wine. Needless to say Saturday morning (our true anniversary) I was in no shape to wish anyone anything happy, let alone acknowledge a pivotal day in the my life.
If I would have done this on our 8 year anniversary I would have possibly been met with a scowl, an underhanded comment about how inconsiderate I had been or how much work the kids were. Lucky for me this was my 12 year anniversary and Landy simply rubbed my heaving back saying in all sincerity "my poor baby" and kept the kids downstairs until I could manage the hollering, running and chasing. He even cleaned the toilets (along with my brother), vacuumed the house and did all the dishes.
I finally dragged myself out of bed around noon to get ready for a first birthday for our neighbour's daughter, our anniversary would have to wait a little while longer. I thought of our 1 year anniversary and the need for Landy to come home from Minnesota for that weekend on the threat that it would be his first and last anniversary if he didn't and here we were putting aside our 12 year anniversary to celebrate a pinnacle moment in a child' life. It took all the energy I could muster to make it through the party but I did.
When we got home it was time to acknowledge that this day was also my brother's 32nd birthday and so our anniversary would need to wait again so that we could celebrate a day that came way before our marriage was even a thought.
I thought about our 10 year anniversary, the amazing poem that Landy had written for me, something that will hold more value than anything purchased in a store, a testament to the depth in which his love extends. After dinner and cake for my brother it was time to put the boys to bed and get through the evening tasks of the family: pj's, teeth brushing, story time, etc.
When the boys were tucked into bed and the house went quiet I looked at the clock and realized that 12 years ago at 9pm, Landy and I had been husband and wife for 2 hours. By 9pm on September 26, 1997 we had done our speeches, cut the cake and started the dance that would begin the life that we planned on spending together. Those two young people with big dreams, passionate aspirations and wild and crazy love would one day become the two adults that would have four beautiful children, careers they could be proud of, a house that is built on family and a love that has sustained them through the tough and tougher.
Yesterday, with a volatile stomach and a throbbing head this post would have been difficult to write because I would not have been able to put the love and admiration that I have for the man that chose to marry me 12 years ago into it. Today I recognize just how great that man is and how lucky of a woman I am.

The Funeral Shower

2009-09-27T16:14:00.003-04:00

As a society we celebrate the love and the expressions of love in our lives. We come together as a family and as friends to embrace the people expressing their love through the purchase of a family home, the wedding, the addition of children. We publicly acknowledge their love through ceremony and we support their love through the housewarming party, the wedding or baby shower. We make sure that they get a good start to this new endeavour in life maybe because we ourselves have been there and know how difficult a start in life can be. We want to let our loved ones know that they have our support.

So why don't we throw a funeral shower? Isn't a funeral a public ceremony to show people the love and grief we feel at the death of our family or friend? Is it not a new start in life, one without that person, an adjustment in identity, a need for support? Wouldn't our society look at death differently if we celebrated the love in the life at the time of death?
Imagine a funeral shower as a coming together of people (family and friends) after the death in a poignant celebration to honour the life of that person and support the people who loved them.

You may think that is the funeral. A funeral is a ceremony run mostly by a funeral home and funeral director, people who never knew the loved one, trying to memorialize them based on pictures and memories pulled together possibly under traumatic circumstances by grieving individuals. A funeral is a necessary event to publicly acknowledge the death but it does not necessarily give the family the love and support they need to sustain them.

Maybe the funeral shower could have a theme (like fishing/hunting for someone like my dad) and people would bring prepared dishes for freezing, groceries and gifts that the family will need to cope and manage through the next couple of months. There could even be games, activities that gave people the opportunity to tell stories about the loved one, play on nostalgia, allow people to express love for that person in a public display of affection through the sharing or memories.
What if the gifts at a funeral shower were gift certificates toward the headstone (they are costly), handyman services, lawn maintenance packages, home grocery services, all bought and paid for. What if a funeral shower honoured the life of the loved one by ensuring their family was looked after for the start of this new life?
What if like a honeymoon period, where newlyweds have excuses for their cuddling and public displays of affection, we acknowledged a bereavement period where family and friends were allowed to act out of character, express their grief, have excuses for erratic behaviour? Granted grief stays with you much longer than a honeymoon period but it would be a start for society to acknowledge grief as an expression of love and death as the start of a new life for those that loved that person.
Imagine if we allowed death to be a celebration of the love we had and the grief we are experiencing where the expectation is that these things exist and need our love and support to provide a healthy start for those grieving? Something to think about.

Lets Talk about Sex Baby

2009-09-21T10:31:00.005-04:00

Thanks Salt-N-Peppa for the song that inspired conversation!

I have been looking for an opportunity to discuss sex with Rhys (our ten year old) and this weekend the moment arrived.

In April Landy and I attended a seminar on "How to talk to your kids about sex."

I knew that we needed to be proactive parents but the words that were needed eluded me constantly. The seminar was really informative and scary, they suggested age 8 was a good time to start the talks, we were already behind! As we left the information session I looked at Landy and said "Well this one is up to you, good luck!" and I left it at that.

Throughout the summer I have asked Landy if he had a chance to talk with Rhys and sadly Landy seemed at a loss on how to begin the conversation. Possibly being the third boy in a family of four meant that the talk had just been passed down from brother to brother. By age 13 Landy's father had died and maybe he never got the talk (I should have asked him that). I know in my house the talk happened at 18 and I had already learned more from MuchMusic than anything my parents shared with me.

This weekend Rhys and I were driving and were in the car together for half an hour, this seemed the perfect opportunity to touch on the subject.

I started with the topic of body changes: perfectly normal, nothing to be afraid of, sometimes confusing and he could always talk to us. I outlined how boys and girls bodies change and briefly on why they change.

Then I moved onto the touchy subject of Touching. The butterflies in my stomach could have lifted me off the ground. I talked to him about the importance of loving and respecting someone and how at times peer pressure and hormonal urges would make it hard to make good decisions but that I knew he could. I thought I did a good job talking about sex without going over his head. Rhys even shared with me that he had a crush on a girl in his class but that he did not want to kiss her. Turns out he is not interested in that yet, PHEW!

When I was done talking about sex I asked Rhys if he had any questions, he instantly came back and said "Mom, what do you do if your body likes one girl and your head likes another?" GULP! (in my head I am screaming go with the one you like with the head on your shoulders son!) I should have left this too Landy, what was I thinking?

"Well Rhys, if you like a girl with your body, you probably do not know her well, therefore you cannot love and respect her and that is important in relationships, if you just like her with your body, you only like one thing about her. If you like a girl with your head, you like everything about her, that is the basis of a loving and long relationship." Secretly I am thinking 'TOO SOON!'

"That is what I thought too mom." Thank goodness! A point for mom and a point for son who had a great question even if I could have waited 8 more years for that question.

This weekend it became clear that my baby is growing up before my eyes, but this weekend I realized that if he can handle that responsibility, maybe so can I.

A Song

2009-09-12T10:07:00.004-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFFo1pu4q7Q

Why is it that a beautiful song, a presentation of music, an orchestra of sound can fill you up, move you, bring tears to your eyes?
Since I was little I can remember music moving me to tears, not sobs, just cascading drops of admiration, inspiration at the sound of something truly magical (did I mention the shivers that can accompany the tears). It was actually a very joyful liberating feeling, an outward expression of appreciation.
After my stuck mood last night I awoke this morning to find I had received an email from a friend with a link to a song, something nice to listen to and I have to say I played it until my family left the room, it was a lovely song by a great singer. So I sent her the above song back; a song, that when I first was sent it by a different but equally wonderful friend, I was moved. Inspired, changed, moved from my moment by a song, notes on a page, a beautiful voice, well thought out words. What a nice way to become unstuck on a Saturday morning.

Stuck

2009-09-11T21:44:00.004-04:00

I am having a stuck week. Not stuck in anything in particular, just not moving forward in anyway.
This happens to me at least a couple times in a year. It used to happen more frequently, it used to be more symptomatic of a problem or in reaction to a feeling but now it just happens sometimes. It could definitely be the lack of Canadian Summer, the endless days of rain, or it could be the sense of a long winter looming in the near future. It could be the back to school routine or a busy workload. Of course the weather is amazing right now and the kids needed the school routine, but I read somewhere that when "things" get better is usually when people feel their lowest.
I find it hard to write about being stuck. I have been raised to believe that we are not supposed to broadcast our problems, we are supposed to quietly take care of them, get over them or get help for them. Acknowledging that problems exist only make us weak and vulnerable, right? Of course that is sarcasm as I truly believe that it takes more courage to admit to our imperfection and embrace our uniqueness than conform to unrealistic expectations.
Well I get stuck. Stuck in a mood, stuck with a feeling, stuck in a moment or just not moving forward. For a high energy person such as myself, sometimes stuck is a welcome break from a crazy speed, but it is also hard to feel stuck.
I will move again, I can already feel a sluggish momentum forward beginning to swell below the surface, maybe acknowledging my pause has helped. I won't be stuck forever.

Finding A Friend

2009-08-31T17:18:00.003-04:00

I find it difficult to make friends (wow that is hard to say). I will justify this by saying that it is NOT hard for me to make friends, I am a very friendly person, it is just difficult for me to relate and get to a level of trust where I consider someone a friend.
Growing up I made friends very easily. I was easy going, talkative, a little bit rebellious, ready for fun. When I graduated into high school, things changed for me. When the politicing started and the hidden agendas behind friendships appeared, when it became important in who you knew and who was considered a friend, I found myself unable to maneuver in the bureaucracy of teen life. When everyone is searching for their identity, struggling with anonymotity or bravado, peacekeeper or troublemaker, I succumbed to the stress of it and became very inclusive in my friendships. I was neutral in the politics, stayed at arms length of the clics and groups and confided in a small number of guys and girls who were less concerned with who was popular this week than where we would meet for coffee and a chat!

At 17 an amazing girl stumbled into my life and it really was a stumble! We were both being wronged by the same boy. He had managed to date both of us at the same time mainly because we went to different schools, it was a typical high school drama. This girl however was anything but typical, she called me up out of the blue, told me what was up and invited me out for a coffee to chat about revenge. We became fast friends, much to the dismay of the communal boy and our friendship quickly blossomed beyond the boy who brought us together. The year that followed was typical girl stuff, movies, coffee, all night phone chats, boyfriends and in March of 1994, at 18, we went on a week long trip to Montreal. We had a blast and I knew that she was a different kind of friend, someone I could be myself with, no games, no politics, no need to be anything more that who I was. In June of 1994 she succumbed to the affects of Cystic Fibrosis and my world fell apart. I felt very alone in the world of teen and the genuineness of her friendship and her ability to be a friend became an amplified emptiness in my life. Her genuine friendship became a model for me of how I should be a friend and how someone could be a friend to me.
Fast forward to 2002 when Flynn died, most of my friends disappeared.
Fast forward to present, I am very lucky in the friends that are currently in my life, they are very special people, very accepting of who I am, unconditional in their love and respect. It amazes me the people that have walked, moved in or emailed into my life. I have found friends in places that I least expected, when I was not looking but usually when I needed them the most.

Helpless

2009-08-07T10:40:00.004-04:00

Helpless. The "knock you on your ass", "nothing to grab hold of", most absolute of all feelings. It will drop you to your knees because rarely do you have the foresight to see it coming. In fact I would venture to say that until you have your first experience with Helpless, you don't even know that such a feeling exists. It exposes the fragility of life, the extent of our power, the vulnerability of our belief. At the time that we encounter Helpless, we pray that we never know it again.

Helpless is that feeling that twists your stomach and pounds your chest, that liquefies your limbs and sucks the air out of your lungs. It is the awareness that envelops the reality of eminent death. It is the inexpressable second right before a new life is born. The moment that you are slammed with the knowledge that you have limited ability to change the course of this life. Life and death will proceed and you may not be included in the decision. It is the moment in a life that you realize you may have a plan but it is not your plan.

Loss is a trigger for Helpless. Our vulnerability, our desire, our plan all exposed and changed. It may not be a death that reminds us, it may be a relationship that cannot endure the ups and downs, maybe a job that could not survive the economy, a diagnosis that takes away our health. When there is nothing left that we can do to change the circumstances, we are reminded of that feeling of Helpless.

Today I wanted to remember Helpless so that I could remember that following Helpless, there is clarity, determination and the insatiable need to take claim of your life again.

From a Five Year Old Mind

2009-07-23T20:38:00.010-04:00

I remember when Rhys was five and all his perceptions of Flynn and death changed from statements of fact to questions of why? Rhys was three when Flynn died and had lived with his and our grief for two years. His questions became a transcendence that mirrored our journey of grief and how it had evolved.

Ash has recently turned five. He was born two years after Flynn had died and his experience with death is limited to what he has been told about his brother's death, his paternal grandfather's death and more recently the death of his Great Grandmother when he was only two years old. His understanding of death differs greatly from Rhys's understanding at the same age.
We are very honest with our children, we do not use words like "passed away" or "sleeping." We do not tell them that the people who died were sick, if we can name an illness we do. We have explained the permanence of death as the body ceasing to function and we have tried not to complicate their understanding of death with philosophy until they are ready to conceptualize on their own (our ten year old is there now, but that is another blog).
I will interject here to tell you that although this all sounds good, Landy is known for wanting to give his children all the information in very adult terms. Rhys and Ash are very bright and sometimes that can be misconceived as capable of handling adult concepts, it has backfired many times.
As of late, Ash has become very interested with the topic of death. He has graduated from the kiddie cartoons and now some of his movies have themes with death as a central storyline and obviously our family has experienced death as well.
Due to our honesty, Ash is aware that his Grandfather died from a brain tumor when Landy was only thirteen. He knows that his brother died because he was born too early and was too small to survive and he knows that his Great Grandmother was very old and died due to complications from her age. In working out what this means to him, he retells the stories of these deaths, adding his own twists or changing facts, making the sombre into dramatic tales.
Here is an example of how he recalls what he was told of his Grandfather's death:

"So Grandpa had cancer in his head and it made him sick and so the doctors needed to make him better so they took a saw and they cut off his head to take the cancer out but when they put his head back on he still had cancer and so he was mad and then he died."

We have corrected Ash's version of the story many times, but each time the illness and the death are much more dramatic than the reality.

We were at Disney World when his Great Grandmother died, and it has definitely affected his explanation of how she died:

"Great Grandma was at the top of the castle with Cinderella and then the fireworks went off and Great Grandma fell of the top of the castle down to the ground and SMOOSH, she was dead."

I am sure that if my Grandma could have input she would find this story comical and enjoy the energy that Ash puts into the story.

Losing a brother is the most difficult for Ash to understand, maybe because unknowingly we explain it differently. The death of a child is hard to explain or make sense of and Ash's grasp of Flynn's death becomes internalized in how he talks about it:

"Flynn was born and he was a big person and so he died and then I am going to die because I am becoming a big person too."

When we explain that Flynn was not a big person, he was a tiny baby, Ash wants to know when he will die since he did not die as a baby. Landy tells him that he won't die, but I don't want to mislead Ash so I tell him that we do not know when we will die but that we hope that we all live to be very old. I hoped that would make sense to Ash but the other morning Ash came into our room and this is how the conversation went:

"So will I die tomorrow?"

"We do not know when we will die but we hope you will be much older than tomorrow."

"When will you die? Will you die tomorrow?"

"I hope to be old too, and watch you grow up and I hope that it will be a long time from tomorrow."

"So then not tomorrow?"

"No Ash, not tomorrow."

"Okay, can I have a snack?"

"Absolutely!"

And so we wait for the next round of questions and stories to sort out the difficultly of death.

Anatomy of a Griever

2009-07-07T17:16:00.008-04:00

For any scientific or literal people I will ask for your forgiveness because the way that I will use the word "anatomy" deviates slightly (or a great deal) from its technical or literal meaning. I could not find another word that would help to illustrate the meaning behind this blog.
I speak with people all day about the way that death and losing a loved one changes you. I talk to them about the expectations we place on ourselves, how we think we should react and behave a certain way. I make them aware that we also put expectations on those around us to have an amount of grief or understanding that they may not have. I talk to them about how grief affects them on every level. In having these discussions it occurred to me that the changes I was discussing always related to philosophical, spiritual, emotional and short term physical changes. I am becoming aware that in being a support to grieving people I am learning and something that I recently learned is that I did not accommodate for the permanent changes that take place in regard to your senses, memory, perception and how they are physically apparent and how it contributes to your grief journey over the long term.
The only way to make sense of what I am trying to say is to explain it using my own experiences and the awareness I have gained working these past seven months.
I am acutely aware that my sense of smell has changed. I know now that is very closely tied with my memories and how I remember certain things. Vaseline Intensive Care will always remind me of my Grandma. I have a very strong sense of smell (not always a good thing) and when I was losing Flynn there were many different smells that surrounded his dying. At times it is those smells that make me remember or bring comfort to a time when I need to remember. There was the smell of the sterile environment like the alcohol, sanitizer, and staleness of closed windows and doors. The medicinal smell of antibiotics, saline solution, iodine and soap. The metal of the tools in the room seemed to give off an earthy, cold smell that has stuck with me and all of this was mixed with the smell of blood and sweat. At times I have come across these smells and it can bring back a sense of loss or the chaos of the experience, sometimes the smell does not come from something that I can see but rather seems like a form of memory recognition and it allows me to reflect on the memory of the day and take things out of it that are more important than the chaos. This is one of the ways that my anatomy has changed.
I have had some very physical changes, not noticeable to the eye or even with an x-ray. The hole in the middle of my guts, what started as the pit, the insatiable hollow gnawing just above my stomach after Flynn died. Now it is replaced with a scarred over space that if I do not take time to appreciate it, I am reminded of its existence. A doctor would most likely read this and scoff but I felt it for years after Flynn died, it was so physical that there were times I wrenched at my middle trying to fill it or pull it out. It flares up when I am exhausted, when I watch someone hurt, it reminds me, it is another way that I have changed.
My hearing has changed, although there is a bit of a joke in this statement, I do struggle with my actual hearing at times, I mean now I listen for different things, I am not sure that I listened before. I take note of what people are wanting or trying to tell me. I hear them and I respond with sincerity. I hear joy and laughter and I hear sadness and fear, I hear more than the words. I am more aware of inflection and that words are only half of what someone is trying to say.
My arms have undergone a change as well. They hold the most significant memory for me, that of holding Flynn after he was born. He only weighed one pound six ounces, but I remember at the time thinking how substantial he felt in my arms. I am blessed that my arms remember him and at times I feel the weight and warmth of him in my arms like I held him only yesterday, I am so appreciative to have this change to my anatomy especially when my mind struggles to remember the details.
The most meaningful change has been to my heart. I am sure that again, to look at and examine it as a medical profession, it would probably appear the same as any other heart. But it was never so apparent to me that it was a part of my body. I am conscious of its existence now, I feel it beat as a reminder of my life within me. I can feel it swell with love, respect and joy and I also feel the muscles in it tense and move with more force when I am faced with other's pain and sadness. I am so grateful that it has adapted to accommodate my changes, the way that life has grown for me from the moment of tremendous loss to one filled with love and purpose.
It may not be an evidenced part of my anatomy that has changed, it would not qualify as anything that needs to be investigated medically but it is definitely a measured change in my metaphysical anatomy that I have encountered as I work on my journey of grief.

The Stupid F#@king Bird!

2009-06-24T21:30:00.004-04:00

Landy came home last night from work in a state, you can always tell when Landy's mood shifts by the black cloud that follows overhead. After the boys went to bed I asked him what was wrong.

"I had a rough day"
"How so?"
"Well it really all started with this Stupid Fucking Bird."

Not something that you would generally expect to hear when recounting a bad day!
Landy proceeded to tell me how a bird had turned a seemingly normal day into one that he would term as rough.

When Landy was driving into work a bird had tried to fly across the road between the vehicle in front of him and himself. When Landy saw the bird attempt the dangerous flight he remembers clenching his stomach and hoping the bird would make it across, as though his stomach muscles would give the bird that little bit extra it may need. As it turned out the bird, realizing it would not make it across, tried to fly up and over Landy's truck and instead smacked into it right above the windshield. After the initial loud thud the bird proceeded to tumble down the length of the truck making hauntingly smaller thuds the whole way down. Landy looked into the rearview mirror to see the bird spiral up and then plummet down into the ditch at the side of the road. As he witnessed the birds final moments he uttered the words "Stupid Fucking Bird."

At home, on the back deck, he recalled the story to me, I quietly said, "looks like that bird won't make it home," there was a moment of silence to which Landy responded "yep that is exactly what I thought and that is when I changed my thinking to Poor Fucking Bird."
"Do you think we have more empathy because of the losses we have experienced?" I asked Landy, I really wanted to know, because I myself found it difficult to not be affected by seeing any living creature harmed or killed, bird or animal.
"I don't know, I think I have always felt this way," Landy added.
"I know I have not always been this way," I concluded aloud,"I may have never thought twice about the animal that lay dead at the side of the road, or the turtle slowly heading into traffic or the goose with the goslings eating the grass next to the curb of the four lane highway. But now I fret for the turtle that may not make it across or worry about the goose if one of the goslings tumbles into traffic, I wonder if they experience loss."
"Stupid Fucking Bird" was all that Landy uttered.
Maybe he was right, better to not add to the list of loss on our plate and hope that it was only a Stupid Fucking Bird.

A rant about Intimacy

2009-06-16T21:28:00.003-04:00

Although the title of this blog may have tweaked the interest of some of my followers, this is not about sex! But please keep reading!
This blog is about how we are at a place in society where it is not considered imposing on ones privacy to say to a practical stranger a comment like "wow there is a lot of space between your kids" or "he's a handful and you wanted more?" and how about "three huh? SO are you done then?"
We recently became proud parents of an All Star baseball player and that has meant that we are now meeting new people (other parents on the team) who we are having to spend a great deal of time with and become acquainted.
I will concede that I am sometimes awkward with this as I am always aware that outward appearances can be quite different from real life and so I take time to get to know someone and I am gentle in my approach. Unfortunately I am amazed how intrusive and even rude other people can be in the way that they try to "break the ice."
In all seriousness and it is serious when I tell you that the above three comments have been said to me by three separate moms on the team over the past month. They did not sense that it was inappropriate, hurtful or too soon in a developing "relationship" to say such things.
I wonder how shocked they would be if I responded with "Space? I had them 3 years apart, one just died" or "A handful sometimes, but alive and well, a blessing, " or "Four actually and there will always be a hole no matter how many children I am blessed to have."
Instead I just smile politely, say nothing and move away from these mothers. I am sure that they feel that I am the one who is rude and in fairness perhaps I am a little rude. I am at peace with that perception because possibly there is a scar that they are hiding from me. I will respectfully take time and allow them to get to know me and decide what and if they would like to share so that we can make allowances for the scars.

Seven Year Old Toddler

2009-06-08T08:53:00.004-04:00

I was recently thrown off guard when an acquaintance, hearing that Flynn had died 7 years ago, asked me if I pictured a seven year old when I thought of him?
I really needed to think about that, I don't know if I had even thought about what he looked like since he was born. What did that mean, did it speak to how I grieved or what type of mom I was? Should I be trying to picture a version of him at an age he should have been, had he lived? Do other mothers visualize their children at ages and milestones, can they age the last visual memory they have of their children and if so, why couldn't I? This was one of those moments when I needed to allow myself to be just Flynn's mom and find what felt best and made the most sense for me.
My acquaintance stood patiently as I searched for the answer.
"To be honest, he was only a baby in the delivery room, once he had passed away and the funeral was over Landy and I pictured him as a toddler because at the time Rhys was almost 3 and we really felt that we had lost getting to know Flynn as an infant, baby and toddler, the way we knew Rhys."
I was not sure that this explanation sounded sane, the woman shook her head in acceptance but I felt I needed to continue to explain.
"I think having Rhys, we wanted to have another child, while I was pregnant we pictured a child growing up with and like Rhys because at the time he was the only child that we knew. Flynn has always remained a 3 year old to me."
The woman thanked me for my honesty and for allowing her to ask, I should have thanked her for opening up a dialogue with myself so that I could be comfortable with my memories.
When and if I picture Flynn, he has a head full of wavy, dark reddish hair with a chubby face, narrow nose, almond eyes and full red lips, he is tall for his age but solid, everything about him looks chubby and healthy, he looks the most like Landy of all the boys and he is 3.
He is and will always be my second son, Rhys's first brother and our family's angel.

My Job Restrictions

2009-06-01T18:31:00.007-04:00

A few weeks ago Ash, my four year old, came home from junior kindergarden with a note from his teacher, they were looking for parent's to come in and discuss their job to the 60 kindergarden students at the school. Ash wondered if I would go, he wanted me to talk to the class about how I helped people to stop crying. I read the note from the teacher, it was a generic letter to all parents, the class was doing a unit on people in the community and they wanted all different types of jobs to come in and speak, the examples were police officers, firefighters, secretary, etc.
I was hesitant about volunteering, I am very comfortable speaking in public but I was not sure how to explain my job to children. I don't remember ever explaining it in detail to Ash and yet his assumptions of my job were quite sweet.
I had just attended a conference that discussed speaking with children about death and how important it was to include them in the conversations. I subscribed to this belief and I could apply it to this opportunity to talk with 4-6 year olds about my job. I decided to tell the children that when someone dies, the people who loved them are very sad and sometimes need help to feel better and that by talking and sharing with me, it is a start to them coping. I wrote the teacher a short note, letting her know the organization that I worked for, my position and what I could talk about and asked that she get back to me if she would like me to speak.
It was a week before I received a response and it came in the form of a letter penned on very pretty paper, this is what it said:

Thank you for so kindly offering to speak to the Kindergarden class about your job. Although I am sure that your job is important for the families that you serve, the principal and I do not feel the topic of death is an appropriate one for 4-6 year olds.
Thank you Again

I read the letter quite a few times, trying to pen a response, I wish that the
topic of death were not appropriate for 4-6 year olds. I know one 4 year
old in her class who has first hand experience with the topic of death and I was sure there was more. It struck me that it was the teacher and the principal that were not comfortable with the topic of death and I felt sad for them. Death is so much more difficult to handle when its very existence is denied. I guess that is part of my job, to educate and normalize people to grief and the part of my job that comes with restrictions is that some people will not want to know that I exist.

Doggie Dentistry

2009-05-29T12:46:00.013-04:00

In Alan Wolfelt's "Mourner's Bill of Rights" he tells the mourner that they have the right to have "grief bursts." In my job I use Wolfelt's "Bill of Rights" often to comfort and give permission to the bereaved individuals I speak with but it has been awhile since I have used them for myself. As I am sure you can guess, that changed last week.

We have an 8 year old beagle Copper or "poor Copper" as we affectionately refer to him. We got Copper as a puppy from the SPCA to be a companion to our Jack Russell terrier (Quincey). Quincey was not adjusting well to Rhys entering our lives. If Quincey did not shape up we were going to have to find him a new home. He had been our first "baby" and after 6 years it was heartbreaking to think of adopting him out but his attitude with Rhys was undeniable. The vet told us that Jack Russell's were better as pairs or with other dogs of a similar size and so that is why in our infinite wisdom we got Copper.
Unfortunately the addition of Copper did not improve Quincey's demeanor and he was adopted by Landy's brother and sister in law. It was at that time that Copper got the name "Poor Copper" because it seemed that he could never live up to the legacy that Quincey had left for him.

Poor Copper is a great dog, it is obvious that he loves the boys, he is easy going and patient but he is also a glutton, adventurer, stubborn as a mule and smelly. We love Poor Copper but he will most likely be our last dog for a long time.
Last week I took Poor Copper to the vet for his annual check up. It had been a hectic week, problems with our daycare, a teething 17 month old, a husband working late, I was blissfully unaware of how run down I was. So with Kinley in the pack on my back, Ash holding my hand and Poor Copper on the leash we waited in the veterinary version of a patient room for the vet tech to come in and see us. When the tech came in she told us that her name was Julia and she was sweet, maybe 22 and cooing at Kinley and talking to Ash. We lifted Poor Copper on the table (all 50 pounds of him) and she started her exam asking questions about his diet, his routine and when she got to his mouth I mentioned to her that he had very stinky breath (probably from eating his own poo). She lifted his gums and I could see that they were bright red.

"Oh, he has some loose teeth here and by the looks of it an abscess."
What I heard in my tired state (which was never actually said) was "Copper needs to be put down due to a horrific case of gingivitis," and I began to sob uncontrollably.

"Oh, its okay, this is not uncommon for a dog his age," Julia looked so sympathetic and all I could do was nod my head as tears continued to stream down my face like a leaky faucet.

"It is nothing you did, we can get him in for some dentistry, clean up these teeth, remove a few and he will be just fine," poor Julia didn't know what to say and she thought that this uncontrollable burst of emotion was just because of Poor Copper's gum disease. The vet came in right at that moment to me still unable to speak, trying to suck my gasps back into my body and making an awful flump,flump,gah sound.

"She is very upset that Copper will need to have some teeth pulled, but I explained to her that it would only take a simple one day procedure and he would be as good as new." Poor Julia, maybe it was best to just let them think that was the reason for this grief burst. Not the fact that I had not celebrated my son's anniversary the way that I had wanted, that I had been juggling work, school, motherhood, supporting families through their own grief and all on an average 6 hours sleep.
The vet just patted my hand.

"Well Copper, I bet that even with loose teeth you will eat this dog treat!" The vet handed Poor Copper a Dentabone and Poor Copper made quick work of it and at that point all I could do was smile through the few remaining tears that trickled out of my leaky eyes.

I loaded the kids and the dog back into the van and as I sat in the driver's seat I became aware that I had really needed that grief burst, to release all the pent up energy, all the stress, the sadness so I could have a better day. Thank goodness for doggie dentistry!

Anniversary Anxiety

2009-05-27T20:35:00.015-04:00

May 3rd.

That is the day, 7 years ago, that Flynn was born and died.

Some Background Here:

Flynn, our second son was born at 9:30pm to a room of doctors, nurses and family, they wanted to send us to McMaster, they thought we had more time, we wanted to hold him for what little time we had.

He was 17 weeks too early and in our city without neo-natal intervention he lived in our arms for a mere hour and a half, dying at 11:05pm.

Every anniversary is different and sometimes there are rituals or traditions that are born out of the memorializing of those important dates.

On Flynn's anniversary I do not work, I do something for me that day. I always take blue orchids out to the cemetary and spend a little time meditating around the past year without him.

With the passing of every year the anniversary has actually caused me more stress. Trying to fit in a day to myself or a trip to the cemetary has become more difficult to work into an increasingly busy schedule. Last year I did not make it out at all and that did not sit well with me so this year I felt that is was necessary to return to my tradition. Of course his anniversary fell on a Sunday that quickly became full of important and almost immovable obligations.

Saturday at 6pm I realized that I did not have the blue orchids for the following day at the cemetary and the only place that I would be able to get them now would be at the grocery florist down the road.

When I got to the store I was relieved to see floral displays with the blue orchids sprinkled throughout but when I asked the girl behind the counter for 6 stems (one to represent each member of our family) my heart sank to hear that there were none left. I begged the girl to allow me to take them out of the arrangements but she could not do that (understandable really). I asked to call the other store further up the road, they did not have any either. I began to feel panicked, this was the most important part of my ritual! Finally I settled on buying a very overpriced arrangement that had 6 stems of the blue orchid in it, it was the best I could do on short notice, but not before I got teary with the girl behind the counter and confided that they were for my dead son at the cemetary, she looked like she heard that every day.

The next morning I had to be at an event for my work, a Walk to Remember, fitting really and I planned to take the whole family to the cemetary after. Landy had not been to the cemetary since the first anniversary. I know that is his way of coping and that we grieve differently but sometimes I wonder what his grief looks like and if he swallows it or embraces it. The event was nice but it ran later than anticipated and before I knew it, there was no way to make it to the cemetary and on to our next commitment.

I could take a separate vehicle and drive 25 minutes out of my way by myself or I could wait and do it on May 4th with Ash (my 4 year old) and Kinley (my 17 month old) with me. Neither seemed an appealing option.

Then something happened, a friend offered to go out with me on May 4th so that I did not have to go alone.

When your child dies before most people meet them, it is hard for that child to have an identity in your life and especially with friends and family. It meant a lot to have her offer to come out to the cemetary.

We went out first thing in the morning, Tonya beside me, Ash and Kinley and Tonya's baby Sadie in the back. Ash is a very chatty child and the 25 minute drive was full of questions:

"Momma, we are going to see Flynn, right?"

"We are going to the cemetary where Flynn is buried actually."

"Why"

"Because that is how I choose to remember him on his birthday"

"Are we going to dig him up?"

"Um, no honey" (Tonya looked pale and slightly traumatized at this point)

"Then why did we bury him?"

"Well that is what we do when someone dies, when their body stops working and it cannot work anymore."

silence.

When we got to the cemetary I asked Ash if he wanted to come out to the stone with me, he had never been to the cemetary before and I thought this may be a good opportunity.

When we got to the stone I read him the inscription:

Flynn, May 3, 2002

"If only for a moment we were blessed to share our love."

"Is he under us right now?"

"Well his body was buried here a long time ago and now we come here to remember him"

"Well I don't think he would like that you are standing on top of him right now."

hmmmm. Fair enough. I kissed my hand and touched the stone, I asked Ash if he wanted to do the same.

"nope"

And that was it. All the worry about the day, the preparation, the anxiety and in five minutes I had an insightful conversation with my 4 year old about his big brother and introduced him to a ritual to remember him. It may not have been the idealized representation of the perfect way to memorialize Flynn's anniversary but it was a real way in this current life to remember him.

Why Now?

2009-05-27T13:25:00.003-04:00

It may seem sad, stuck, depressing or even a desperate cry for attention that I have decided to begin blogging about grief now. My journey with grief began 15 years ago when a great friend died and continued with the death of my son 7 years ago and my grandmother 2 years ago. There has been grief before and inbetween these significant losses, grief is more than the emotional response to death, it is the response to the loss of something/someone loved, needed or necessary.

In all honesty it is because I am not stuck that I can write about grief now. I hope that talking about death, dying and the transformation that occurs while grieving, will encourage further conversation and normalize the experience for others. I don't think I could have written about grief before now, at least not from a perspective that was insightful, provactive or earnest. My grief has grown with me from pity and despair, surrender and coping, to healing and learning.

When this journey began to evolve into one of healing I was not sure that I was allowed to feel changed, complete or improved by the experience. In having those feelings I feared that I was dishonouring the memory of the people that had died. It has taken years to realize the love and respect it shows their memory. The fact that I have learned and I have grown and continue to do so from their life and death.

When I say that I am going to write about grief, this is not an account of the past, although there may be snippets, this is an account of the day to day. I walk with grief everyday, the unseen companion and it is how I encounter it in "normal" daily interactions, parenting, marriage, friendships and work.

The way that we grieve is unique and this blog is not meant to be a field guide on how to grieve. This is my journey but I hope it can help others as they cope with their journey and hopefully I can write about it in a way that is relatable, funny and real.

I don't want to give the impression that there will not be sadness in this blog from time to time, grief comes in waves and every wave carries with it a different memory and a different emotion. This blog is about my life as a healthy griever.