Thursday, August 20, 2009

Six more hurdles to jump following a child's death

In addition to the “Hardest Things After A Child’s Death” blogs already posted (http://jodyglynnpatrick.wordpress.com/), are these five bottomless pits that many parents fall into after the death of their children. For whatever it’s worth (validation that you aren’t crazy or alone?), I’ve added a personal note of how I approached each one – and am still approaching them.

1. The question (and intense pain and distress) of deciding what to do with your child’s room, clothing, and possessions.

This is especially hard for married couples or extended families in which there is disagreement about “how to live” after – some want all physical possessions and the room left the same, others want to make subtle changes, and some others will want to purge or rid themselves of any and all painful reminders.

Personally, for months after my son Daniel died (age 16/car accident), I slept clutching his pillow. I wanted to hang on to the faint smell of him left on his pillowcase… until even that scent was gone.

I set aside items that preserved or evoked the strongest memories – a few rocks he had picked up on our last walk; his favorite drumming sticks; his Ronald McDonald doll (given to him by the ‘real’ Ronald at the Chicago Ronald McDonald House); a football signed and given to him by the Philadelphia Eagles Football team.

I kept these items until my other children were old enough to receive them. I kept the football. It took a few months before I was able to begin removing things from his room, and slowly, so as not to “jar” my other children, I replaced this and that. When that didn’t ease the pain, we moved.

Moving is a common phenomenon. People say “don’t make a drastic change” for a year after a crisis. I say “do whatever feels best and right to you.” There is no “right way” or “wrong way” to grieve, and I know this as an experienced crisis interventionist and professional grief counselor — as well as a bereaved parent.

If images of your child in those rooms ambush you with pain to the point of driving you crazy, move. Martydom is not required by your child as a testamony of how much you loved them. If remembering him or her in those places brings you comfort, stay. No one else can or should tell you when “enough is enough.” It’s enough when your heart says “it’s enough” and that may be “now” or “never” for you.

2. Most grieving parents dread the coming year’s “firsts” — the first missed birthdays, holiday, or the first anniversary of your child’s death.

Daniel died in July. I put up our Christmas tree for Halloween and decorated it with bats. I put Thanksgiving decorations on the tree next. That way, when Christmas came and he wasn’t there to help put up the tree, it wasn’t quite the drawn-out affair of crying while pulling the tree out of the garage. It saved a few minutes grief.

Today, we still name him and include him in our opening prayers for every special event. His birthday and death anniversary, and Mother’s Day were hardest for me. I found a church for those days, and prayed and cried with a pastor.

For the first ten years or so, I took his birthday off as a vacation from work, knowing that I could be ambushed by grief. Now I can handle the grief, and prefer to be at work. There is no “right” way to do any of this, or even preferred way.

Make new traditions or keep the old. Do what feels right to you and your family.

3. “How many children do you have?”

It’s an innocent question, right? And if you ever make any reference to a living child of yours to a new acquaintance, the question of How many children do you have? is sure to follow. This makes some parents hypersensitive of ever mentioning any of their children – further isolating them from the natural joys of parenting (bragging about your kids or sharing their cute remarks or antics or irritating habits, depending on the audience).

On the other hand, if you don’t mention the dead child when answering that question, you may feel guilty, as if you have already erased their importance in your life.

But… If you do tell the person that you lost a child, it brings sorrow to your listener (and likely to you), and causes, at the very least, an awkward moment or situation.

My answer always depends on the listener. If it is someone I am meeting casually, and likely will not see again, I have decided that I don’t owe them an explanation, and it isn’t a betrayal of my son. I answer that I have three children, and say whatever else about those (now adult) children that seems relevant to the conversation.

If the person is someone I’d like to know better, or I think I’d like them to know me better, I may say, “My oldest son, Daniel, was killed in a car accident when he was a teenager, but I have three other children children that I’m happy to talk about – Summer, Brook, and Philip” and then tell more about them, highlighting the positives about their lives.

Notice that I gave the details and age of his death in the introduction so that the questioner doesn’t have to ask those natural questions to seem interested – or to prove they aren’t shocked by what I’ve just said (they are). And by continuing with the details of the other children, they can move ahead with me, or, if they are truly interested/comfortable knowing more about Daniel, they can direct the conversation back.

If you’ve recently lost a child, you may want to consider what you’re going to say, so you won’t be taken off-guard so easily. I never ceased to be amazed — as likely are infertile couples, or those choosing not to have children — at how often it comes up.

4. Someone you know from your past (or someone you know who was out of touch when your child died) approaches you and inquires about your child, not knowing….

This is a no-win situation. It requires that you deliver a death notice yourself and it can bring you emotionally back to those harder telephone calls you made that first day or night.

I’ve had this happen numerous times. The last time it occurred, I was anxious to hook up with a high school friend at a recent high school reunion. Nita and I had been best-best friends, double dating, in attendance at each other’s weddings — we even threw baby showers for one another. We had our first-born children (both boys) within a year of each other. But then she moved to a farm and I moved out of state, and then, well, you know the story. It was “back in the day” before email. Who had time to handwrite snail mail letters while working and raising children?

I knew the hardest point of the reunion evening would be telling Nita about Daniel’s death. But although she was on the list of people coming, I personally didn’t know any of her contact information, and it really didn’t occur to me to contact the organizers and ask. I thought, well, we’d surely have some time alone and I’d tell her then. At least, I’d be expecting the question that night, so surely I could handle it.

As soon as Nita and I saw each other (and sneaked a peak at name tags to be CERTAIN it was our old best-best friend), we flew into each other’s arms. She then introduced me to her (second) husband and I introduced her to my husband, and in the same next breath, she said “How’s Daniel?” and I said “How’s Peter?”

Her son Peter had been killed a couple weeks earlier in Iraq. He was a career Army ranger.

Soon we had a group of old high school friends around us – people we barely even recognized anymore – asking what happened, why we were crying what obviously were mournful tears instead of “happy-to-see-you” tears, and holding each other, sobbing. And we had two husbands standing by our sides, not sure what to do or say to make us feel better.

The message is that this is a no-win situation. And it may not get easier over the years. It may always be a flashpoint for emotions you thought were finally in check. If so, you’re in good company and no, you aren’t mentally unstable or weak.

5. A mother’s grief does not automatically trump a father’s grief… or a grandparent’s grief, or a sibling’s grief or an aunt’s grief.

Everyone is usually devastated following the death of a child, though they may express it differently. Fathers often get overlooked because sometimes they express grief in a more “manly way”. Or they are expected to “get over it” more quickly by society. We all, being human, judge the quality or depth of others’ grief based on what we see on the surface — and how we’ve been taught to interpret that.

Society also (unspoken, unwittingly, but truly) has an standard for when parents should “recover.” When grandparents should stop talking about a deceased grandchild, or an adult brother should be over a sibling’s death that occurred during his childhood.

I am never going to be “over” my son’s death. I am never going to move beyond it. Daniel-Paul will always be my son, always in my heart and in my life. That doesn’t mean I stop loving or laughing with the ones left in my life who deserve to have me present and authentically in their lives.

6. This is a landmine many people don’t expect: If you have other children, you may want to talk to people in their worlds about what happened, and help them help you to best support the children and not tell them things contrary to your belief systems.

You may need to help others to understand it from your perspective — teachers, school counselors, and (as would be age-appropriate) your child’s peers. Well-intentioned people (including family members) may want to help you “fix” your surviving children. If you are Jewish, for example, be prepared for well-meaning Christian adults to tell your children that their brother or sister is now “with Jesus”. A babysitter may try to assure them that their sibling “is sleeping in heaven.”

Many people are uncomfortable with the language of death. So they often describe death as “sleeping”, which can have traumatic effects on children who lack the age or maturity to understand that the sibling they saw with eyes closed in a coffin was not buried or separated from family because they fell asleep the wrong way. This is a common misunderstanding that can cause serious anxiety or even a continuing sleep phobia.

You may need to be very precise in your expectations of others (including your own parents or loved ones) as to how they approach your children. And if they do it “wrong”, you’ll want to be compassionate and not make your disappointment (or anger) an issue obvious to your child. Seeing you angry may make them fearful of bringing up the subject of their sibling’s death with others. It cannot be a “secret” they are expected to keep.

Tell support people what you want privately but clearly. Be as compassionate as you can, given the circumstances, but say what you want and how you feel. And don’t hesitate to explore professional help if this becomes overwhelming for you – choose one who specializes on informing and supporting children with griefwork and mourning, and make sure their own approach is also consistent with yours, or at leat something you can support when you get back home.

The night Daniel died, our pastor arrived with what she thought was a great book – it was a children’s book that addressed the death of a pet. She wanted to read it to my children. I forbid it. I did not want Daniel’s death likened to the death of a dog. But I asked her to join me in the other room and gently but firmly told her there that I appreciated the gesture, but I would handle the children’s grieving that evening. I needed her there to support me by being present and silent.

I hope these references are helpful, and please feel free to add your comments and experiences as well. Please forward it to others if it helps express your perspective, or to start a conversation with your support system as to how to best help you.

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