Grieving Parent

Tag: Grieving

  • How to Summit Grieving’s Everyday Mountains

    How to Summit Grieving’s Everyday Mountains

    The blog Zen Habits is one of the most popular on the Internet. The following post is an adaptation of a post called A Guide to Reaching Life’s Summits. I thought many of the points and tips in the Zen Habits post apply to the grieving parent’s journey up the mountain of pain we all face each day. The italicized block quotes are from the Zen Habits article, and my grieving parent version is below it.

    Pack light.

    I wish I took this more seriously. Every unnecessary piece of gear complicates things and detracts from the experience. Aside from the bare necessities, things do not make life better. They often cause more stress and keep you from what’s most important. The lighter your pack the better. Life is too short to be burdened with excessive possessions, emotional baggage or regrets. Positive thoughts, relationships and experiences weigh nothing at all. Pile them on and leave the rest behind. They’ll lift you to the top.

    Grieving parents are left with emotional bags to carry on their journey up the grief mountain. So many “should have done this – if only I’d have done that” kind of questions we have. Why did this happen and why didn’t we see it coming and stop it? These emotions don’t help. They create stress. You have to let them go. The truth is we don’t control this life on earth. The ultimate outcome is not in your hands. You have to forgive yourself before you can heal. Lighten up.

    Take one step at a time.

    Any major accomplishment can be broken down into a series of single steps. My pattern for the mountain was 15 steps up, 15 breaths of rest. I did that for 7 hours. If I would have only focused on the very top, frustration would have overcome me. If your summit is too intimidating, break it into smaller steps. Focus on those one by one. Eventually one step will be the one that puts you on top.

    In our computer-based rush around world, we expect results to happen fast – often in just an instant. This is not a trip to the corner store. It’s a journey. A long arduous climb up a mountain. It will take years, and we’ll probably never get to the top of the mountain. Give yourself permission to grieve, to be sad, to accept life has changed and can’t be changed back. One day at a time. One hour at a time.

    Don’t go at it alone.

    When climbing, a partner is a must. For safety, support, camaraderie, motivation and simply to share the journey. You’d be silly (and putting yourself in great danger) to go up alone. Life is meant to be experienced with others. It makes the valleys shallower and the peaks higher. Relationships magnify experiences and help you do things that prove impossible alone. Don’t leave home without your support team.

    Find some help. You need someone to talk to. We’ve found The Compassionate Friends to be a great resource. TCF is made up of other bereaved parents. They’re on the same journey. Some of them have been climbing this mountain for decades. Others are just starting out. They know how you feel and what you’re going through.  Hospice is another good organization that helps the grieving parent. Maybe you have a good church and can get help there. Maybe you need one-on-one care and need to find a professional. Just don’t try to go it alone.

    Listen to the experts.

    Halfway up, a passing guide told us if we couldn’t get to the top by 12:30 at the latest, then to turn back. Chances of late day thunderstorms were too great. As amateurs we would have had no idea. While we all ought to experience our own paths, it’s foolish not to learn from and observe the guidance of experts. Choose your life models wisely and keep them close by on your journey.

    Once again TCF is a good resource. There are also many helpful books.

    Slow down.

    As Yvon Chouinard of Patagonia says, “It’s about how you got there. Not what you’ve accomplished.” Despite what colleagues and competitors may tell you, there is no rush. Rushing on the mountain risks slipping, not acclimating to thinning air, exhaustion and possibly death. In life the biggest risk is that you miss the wonders of everyday experiences in your pursuit to the top. The top is secondary to the process.

    The grieving parents world is a swirling fog of confusion and pain. Slow down. Breath. Take time for quite time. Time to just think and center yourself. A time to find yourself again. This is a marathon not a 40 yard dash. Slow and steady is the best pace.

    Look back and take in the view.

    There’s never any guarantee that you’ll get to the top, but you always have the ability to stop, take in a deep breath, smile and enjoy the view-whether it’s miles of wilderness or two feet of fog. It’s all wonderful. Every moment of life is a new view to appreciate.

    It helps to look back. Remember when the pain was so fresh and new? How you couldn’t get through a day without crying several times? – maybe constantly? Remember how you couldn’t laugh anymore? Then gradually the tears fell less and laughter came back. Maybe you felt guilty. But life does come back. It’s different now, and not better. But gradually it gets better. Look back occasionally and notice.

    Save some energy for the trip down.

    We thought the summit was “just over that peak” half a dozen times before it actually was. Conserve energy. Things will inevitably take longer than expected. Don’t be discouraged. Budget your capital, energy and drive appropriately. Rarely is anything in life an all out sprint. Treat it like a marathon. You may need your reserves when you least expect it.

    It’s said, “A man must know his limits.” Grieving parents have to know their limits too. We all grieve differently. You have to find your way through this.

    Maybe big family gatherings are too much for you at first. Skip a few. Maybe you no longer feel like doing all the Christmas decorating that you did when your child was still here. So don’t do it. Some people we know take trips at Christmas now.

    You won’t “get over it” but you will learn to cope. Just remember you can’t do it all at once. Give yourself time. Take small steps.

    Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory.

    These are Ed Viesturs’ famous words; the first U.S. man to summit all 14 peaks above 8,000 meters with no bottled oxygen. The summit will be there tomorrow and likely so will yours. If more planning, a stronger team or more support is required, then save the summit for a time when the payout is safer and more probable. If you are outmatched, know when to turn back, only to return stronger and more savvy tomorrow. Stay objective and don’t let short-term excitement get in the way of long-term fulfillment.

    Failure is a part of the process.

    If we would have started our climb the week before, conditions would have been too grave to make it. Be ok with not reaching the summit every time. Falling short is inevitable. You will never learn more than from your failures…at anything. Embrace them.

    A daunting summit is nothing more than a challenge. A challenge is simply an opportunity in disguise. You won’t summit every one you come across, but you will become a better person with each attempt.

    There will always be another mountain. You are not meant to conquer them all. Past summits are simply preparing you for the next. With the right strategy, you’ll put the top within reach. When your summit arrives, you will be ready.

    “It is not the mountains we conquer but ourselves.” ~Sir Edmund Hillary

    Grieving isn’t pretty. There will be good days and bad. Lot’s of bad days. Feeling OK one day and completely down the next doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It’s OK to be sad, to miss your kid so bad you don’t think you can go on. You can go on. Live through the bad times, remember the good ones and keep taking one step forward.

    Original article:
    http://zenhabits.net/summit-mountains/

     

  • The Lost Christmas Eve

    The Lost Christmas Eve

    It may be a long night.

    I’m sitting here listening to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra album called “The Lost Christmas Eve.” I’m on the second repeat so far. There will probably be many more. When I get in these moods, I can listen to the same music over and over for hours.

    The lost Christmas Eve… the lost Christmas spirit. It’s now our life. Christmas has gone away.

    DO ANGELS KEEP THE DREAMS WE SEEK
    WHILE OUR HEARTS LIE BLEEDING?

    I remember Richard’s first Christmas. He was 4 months old. We put him on the floor in front of the Christmas tree. He would light up brighter than the bulbs on the tree, squeal with delight, and try with all his might to wriggle to that tree.

    As he was growing up he liked to crawl up under the tree, lie on his back and just lay there looking up through the branches at the lights.

    Richard always made sure the lights on the tree were plugged in. He wouldn’t let us vary much from our Christmas traditions and rituals. He loved it.

    AND THE TIME AND THE YEARS
    AND THE TEARS AND THE COST
    AND THE HOPES AND THE DREAMS
    OF EACH CHILD THAT IS LOST

    Last year we only turned on the lights a couple of times – when we put up the tree at Thanksgiving and again at Christmas.

    So far this year the tree is still in the box.

    SOMEWHERE IN THE DARK
    BEYOND ALL THE COLD
    THERE IS A CHILD
    THAT’S PART OF MY SOUL

    And now Christmas is lost. It’s buried in an oak box, under a couple of feet of earth. And I don’t know how to find it. And I sit in the wee hours of the morning riding the music, when I should be sleeping.

    THE LURE OF A DREAM
    AND I’M AFRAID TO WALK BACK THROUGH THAT DOOR
    TO FIND THAT I’VE AWAKENED

    I feel guilty because I can’t find Christmas. I still have a beautiful daughter. A great wife. A loving and supportive family. Friends that care.

    GOT TO GET BACK TO A REASON
    GOT TO GET BACK TO A REASON I ONCE KNEW

    And I know Richard has now reached the great promise of Christmas. That same promise tells us we’ll be with him again when the time is right.

    But that’s such a hard thought to hold onto.

  • A Meeting Place For Grieving Dads

    A Meeting Place For Grieving Dads

    Being a grieving dad is no fun. It has all this emotion stuff. Let’s face it, most of us guys aren’t too good with that kind of stuff. And the resources geared toward grieving dads seem to be limited.

    Kelley Farley, a two time grieving dad, is trying to improve that. He’s working on a book for and about grieving dads. He also has a blog.

    One of the posts on Kelly’s blog, Nightmares Have Taken the Place of Dreams, has become something of a meeting place for dads trying to deal with the loss of a child.

    In his blog post he shares the story of Jody Dark Eagle Breedlove, who lost his son to suicide two years ago. It is a very powerful story and a testimony of the struggles of dealing with this sort of huge loss.

    Other dads left encouragement for Jody in the comments. Jody responded.

    The post was written in June. It has continued to be a place where dads come to post in the comments when they need a little help from their fellow grieving dads. It’s not the normal way blog posts work, but there’s really nothing normal about dealing with the loss of a child.

    So maybe you might like to check it out. You should probably bookmark it so you don’t have to search for it every time you go on Kelley’s blog like I do.

    Oh, if you leave a comment make sure to check the box to get notified when a new comment is added so you can stay in touch.

  • Another Birthday

    Another Birthday

    Today is Richard’s birthday. He would be/is 24 today.

    This one has been harder than the last. Last year his birthday was just 3 months from his death. In fact, we had just gotten his death certificate a couple of weeks before that. We were still numb. The Novocain of early grief has worn off.

    Richard was the special intention for the 8am mass at church. Debbie doesn’t remember if she set that up or if someone else did, but like all the other “Richard Masses” we went to this one.

    We then went to the cemetery.

    I was planning to do some sprucing up around his grave. Recut the edges and put down new mulch. But there has been very little rain over the last several weeks. The ground was like concrete. I couldn’t get the edger tool more than an inch or so into the ground. So I decided to wait till later – like this fall – when the ground is a bit softer. I put the mulch around my mom’s stone instead.

    We put some balloons by Richard’s grave and watered the flowers that were sagging pretty badly.

    A couple of guys at work share Richard’s birthdate. So I had a birthday cake made with their names on it. I’m taking birthday cake and ice cream with a bunch of toppings to work today. The guys at work might think it’s a celebration for them. One of them is my boss, so I’ll probably be accused of sucking up to the man.

    That’s OK. Richard will know who that cake and ice cream are really for.

    Happy Birthday kid – I miss you.

  • The Camaro Conundrum

    The Camaro Conundrum

    It just never seems to be easy.

    There is a 1997 Camaro sitting in our driveway. It’s been there for several years now. It doesn’t run.

    This was Richard’s car.

    I bought it for him from the cousin of a coworker of mine while Richard was still in high school. It looks pretty good and he was rather proud of it. It only has a V-6 engine so I felt safe he wouldn’t be in too many races with it.

    The deal was I’d pay half the cost and he’d pay for half. I bought it and he didn’t have to make good on his half until he finished school. He did give me $1000 he had saved, so he had some skin in the deal.

    He never was all that mechanical. Never showed much interest in turning wrenches.

    The car overheated on him. Several times I think. In the end the head gaskets blew, and the AAA tow truck delivered it to the spot in the driveway where it still sits today.

    Replacing the head gaskets is a high dollar repair – unless you do it yourself. Richard had no interest in doing it himself. Not having a garage to work in made it a no-go for me too.

    But Richard said he wanted to fix it someday. So the car stayed in the drive.

    Recently we had some repair work done to the electric range in our kitchen. The repair tech was a chatty sort. As he was leaving, he mentioned the Camaro. He used to have several like it. I told him about the condition of ours and asked if he wanted to buy it. I gave him a pretty low price. He seemed excited about it.

    We talked about it for awhile longer and he said he wanted it. He hoped to come back that next weekend with a trailer to haul it away.

    That’s the last I heard from him. That was about 2 months ago.

    We had a yard sale this past weekend.  I thought it would be a good idea to add the car to the items for sale.

    We were talking about posting ads for some big items on Craigslist. When the subject of the car came up Debbie laughed and said she’d never forget Richard’s response when he thought I was going to sell his car one time before.

    I was home one morning and heard a knock on the front door.

    The man on my front porch said, ” I was wondering if the Camaro is for sale.”

    “I don’t know. It’s my son’s. He’s away at school. Leave your number and I’ll ask him about it. I’ll call you if he wants to get rid of it.”

    Well he was home a few days later and Debbie gave him the phone number and the news about the man wanting to buy his broke down car.

    He grabbed a piece of paper and a Sharpie. He wrote, “NOT FOR SALE” on the page in big black letters, stormed out of the house and taped his sign to the inside of the windshield and locked the doors.

    He told his mom he was going to get that car fixed someday.

    As I listened to the story and remembered the event I felt a wave of guilt sweep over me. I had almost sold Richard Camaro.

    Now I try to be logical about things.

    I don’t really care much about that car. I didn’t like driving it. It’s too low to the ground for my aging bones and from the driver’s seat the windshield seems like it stretches out for 10 feet in front of the car.

    I don’t want to do the work on it myself. It costs way more than the car’s worth to have it done by someone else.

    If you remove the emotions from the decision, the choice is clear. Sell the car. Get it out of the driveway. I don’t want it, and Richard won’t be getting it fixed.

    But there’s no way to remove the emotions.

    It was Richard’s car and he wanted to keep it. And that makes the pile of junk in the drive have a lot of emotional baggage.

    So now the Camaro is no longer for sale.

    Why does this stuff have to be so hard?