Finding the Magic
By Sandy Goodman
Once again, it’s that time of year. Halloween is over, Thanksgiving
is fast approaching, and Christmas is only a few steps behind. Will this
year be different than the last seven? Will I find the magic again? Wait.
Let me revise that question: Did I ever feel the magic?
As a bereaved parent, I have experienced only two holiday seasons. While
I have physically lived through 49 hell-a-days, emotionally, there have
been only two: The ones before and the ones after Jason’s death. The two
categories are distinctly different.
If memory serves me correctly, which God knows it doesn’t always do,
I spent the first 42 years focused on material issues. What would I get?
What did I want? What would make me the happiest child in the whole world?
As I grew older and had my own little family, I spent the next 22 years
asking myself what I would get them. What did they want? What would make
them love me more? How would I manage to pay for all of it? I always felt
there was something missing . . . but didn’t really have the time or interest
to find that missing something. Besides, why borrow trouble? Each year,
by the time I realized that something was missing, the decorations were
packed in their boxes and the kids had gone back to school. I could always
find the magic next year.
In 1996, Jason died. Suddenly, my life ended its forward march and everything
I had ever regarded as important became nonsense. My heart was not simply
broken—it was ripped into shreds, emptied of what had fueled it over the
span of my life. I had no hope of waiting for it to heal and had to face
the reality that only a total reconstruction would suffice. I would have
to create a new heart . . . from scratch.
That first fall was difficult. I was still numb, still cushioned from
reality, but the pain of Jason’s death was beginning to seep in. Then it
was Halloween, and the horror of what had happened was upon me. Thanksgiving
came with Christmas on its tail, bringing an empty chair, an unbroken wishbone,
and silence where laughter had once prevailed.
I was sure it could not get any worse, but life always surprises us.
The holidays of 1997 and 1998 were devastating. The numbness that had protected
me that first season was gone. Reality had arrived, and I could not escape
it. I would never again see Jason walk through our front door with that
grin that always made me nervous, tracking snow across my “freshly waxed
for the holidays” floor. I would never again buy two of everything for
Jason and his twin brother. I would never again . . . enjoy the holidays
. . . or life.
Years four through seven, we bought gifts for needy families, hung
Jason’s stocking right beside the rest of ours, illuminated special candles
to include him in our celebrations, and smiled cheerfully at everyone who
offered us their joy filled Merry Christmas. And as I spread my Christmas
cheer and goodwill toward men, I had only one thought in my mind. It became
my mantra: “If I can just make it through December, I will be okay.” I
was no longer focused on the material side of the season. I was no longer
focused on the season at all. I wanted it over.
And now, here I am, at year eight. My eighth season of joy, my eighth
year of decking the halls, my eighth year of Jason’s physical absence.
You probably think I am going to tell you that this year will be no different
from the last seven. You might even anticipate that I am going to tell
you that it never gets better, that there is no such thing as healing,
and that grieving parents will always be bitter and angry, especially during
the times when families everywhere celebrate the season of giving. Wrong.
But don’t feel bad; this revelation has totally shocked me also.
A few days ago, on a cold morning in October, I woke up and was amazed
to see that it was snowing. Overnight, the world had gone from brown to
pure glistening white. It was beautiful. Later that day, I heard someone
in my home actually humming Christmas carols. How dare they!? But . . I
was alone. It was me. That evening, I spent an hour printing up a beautiful
green and red Christmas “wish list” with graphics! That was the straw that
broke the camel’s back. Suddenly, it hit me. And no matter how guilty I
feel in acknowledging it, I have to tell you. I am looking forward to the
holidays. Oh . . . my . . . GOD. How can this be? Why is this happening?
Well, after much pondering, I think I know why. I think I spent 42 holidays
looking through a lens that only focused on black and white, on the physical,
on that which can be seen and physically felt. The lavishly wrapped gifts,
excessive food, amount of money spent, and glittering (sometimes gaudy)
lights on the tree. The next seven were spent looking through a lens that
was distorted and scarred by grief. I focused on what was missing rather
than on what was still here. I think I wanted it that way.
But now, I feel I’ve learned how to not only endure—but to enjoy—a memory
that can only be defined as bittersweet. I’ve come to appreciate that feeling
emotional is really about feeling impassioned. And I think this year, as
the songs start to play on the radio and the cards begin filling our mailbox,
I will choose a different lens, a lens that captures that which we cannot
see or physically touch. A lens that goes beyond.
Not everything will change. I will still hang Jason’s stocking beside
ours, buy gifts for the needy, light candles in his memory, and all of
the other things that have made the last seven years bearable. But this
year, I hope to do these things with joy rather than with bitterness and
sorrow. This year, I want to grasp the hand of a homeless mother, kiss
the cheek of a newborn baby, and hold a kitten while it plays in the place
where kittens go to dream. I want to watch Santa as he holds wiggly toddlers
on his lap. I want to sing “Silent Night” on a snowy night in mid-December
when it feels as if all the world is sleeping. I want to feel the Christmas
that we cannot see.
This year, I want to remember who I really am. I want to enjoy the months
ahead. Not because I need to or because someone says it’s time to but because…well,
because I can. This year, I want to find the magic before it is time to
put away the boxes. And I won’t stop searching until I find it.
Merry Christmas to you and yours . . . Believe in magic, And always
. . . expect miracles.
Sandy Goodman
Chanukah
Chanukah has always been a favorite holiday for my family and me.
Lighting the Menorah
The smell of Latkes frying in the pan
The smiles on my boys faces
The excitement of eight nights of my two little boys opening presents
(sometimes just small silly gifts, it didn't matter) Memories of a happy
and innocent time I hold fast to those special holiday times….. shared
the past so bittersweet. The future now not as we planned, yet still to
be experienced with hope and courage
Always remembering my two little boys sharing the fun and excitement
with my husband and I with the wonder of innocence on their
faces and a gleam in their eyes as the Chanukah Menorah was lit and the
blessings recited..................one child now a young man with a wife
and son of his own, his younger brother watching over
us with love from a place we have yet to discover.
I smile for the wonderful memories that this time of the year evokes,
while my eyes fill with tears.
In Memory of Craig Adam Blumsack by Judy Blumsack
Merry Christmas
This year . . .
the silence of a starry night,
the brightness of the snow,
and the crispness in the air
remind me of you.
Memories of you
allow joy to sneak in.
Though time has not healed,
Love has,
and love needs time to show itself
when smothered in fear.
This year . . .
the glitter of the garland,
the tinkling of the bells,
and the cheer of glad tidings
remind me of you.
And you . . .
Remind me to love.
--Sandy Goodman 2002
Merry Christmas to you, my friend.
May peace surround you
and memories bring you serenity.
--
Sandy Goodman
Author of “Love Never Dies: A Mother's Journey from Loss to Love”
I Remember (In My Son’s Memory)
By Juanita Bell
Your face, I remember; your eyes, I remember;
Your voice, I remember;
Your words, “I love you Mommy forever”, I remember!
Your cry, I remember; your laughter, I remember;
Your touches, I remember; your hugs, I remember;
Your kisses, I remember; your playfulness, happiness and sometime sadness,
I remember!
Your sweet little peaceful body that I held close to me, as you journeyed
home to be with God to rest eternally;
I remember!
Dominic – my child, I will love you always, and hold your remembrance
in my mind and heart;
I remember you now, always and forever.
Love Always – Mommy
In Memory of my Son, Dominic
9/13/96 – 6/25/02
Surviving the Tinsel
~Alice J. Wisler
That holiday-pang hit my stomach the first October after Daniel died.
Greeting me at an arts and craft shop were gold and silver stockings, a
Christmas tree draped with turquoise balls and a wreath of pinecones and
red berries. What was this? And was "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" playing
as well? It was only October.
I had anticipated that Christmas and the holidays would be tough. In
fact, I'd wake on those cold mornings after Daniel died in February and
be grateful that it was still months until his August birthday and even
more months until Christmas. I dreaded living both without him. I would
have preferred to have been steeped in cow manure. At least then I could
take a hot bath with sweet smelling bubbles and be rid of the stench. But
bereavement isn't that way. As those who had gone on before let me know,
you have to live through it.
Christmas came. I did live through it. It continues to happen as do
the other significant days of the calendar year. Daniel never arrives at
any of them although his memory lives on. By incorporating him into these
days of festivity, I can cope.
Some of you have your child's birthday and/or anniversary day within
the November through January season. These days, in addition to the holidays
everyone else is celebrating, make the season even more complicated and
painful, I'm sure.
I offer eleven tips I've used to survive the holidays. Some are my own
suggestions and some are borrowed from the many who walk the path of grief.
1. Know you will survive. Others have done it and you will, too. Keep
in mind that your first Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's Day will
not be easy.
2. Find at least one person you can talk to or meet with during the
holiday season. Perhaps this person has gone through a few Thanksgivings
and Christmases before and can give you some helpful ideas that have worked
for them.
3. Things will be different this holiday season and perhaps for all
the rest to come. Don't think you have to do the traditional activities
of years past when your child was alive. Your energy level is low. If no
one in your household minds, skip putting up the tree. Forget spending
hours making your holiday cookies.
4. Spend the holidays with those who will let you talk about your child.
You will need to have the freedom to say your child's name and recall
memories, if you choose to do so. Your stories about your child are wonderful
legacies. Tell them boldly again and again.
5. If going into the mall or stores brings too much pain, shop for gifts
online or through mail-order catalogs. Thinking everyone is happily shopping
at the malls with intact lives while your heart is crushed is terribly
tough. Go easy on yourself.
6. Getting away from the house is an idea that worked for my family.
The first Christmas without Daniel we went to a nearby town and lived in
the Embassy Suites. The kids enjoyed the indoor pool and breakfast buffets.
Christmases that followed were spent at a rented cottage on the shore and
the Christmas we rented the beach house, we were able to invite extended
family to join us. We all shared in the cooking.
7. Create something to give to those who have helped you throughout
the year. I made some very simple tree ornaments with In Memory of Daniel
stamped on them and gave them to friends that first Christmas.
8. Decorate the grave. Put up a plastic Christmas tree with lights.
Sometimes being busy with decorating the grave gives a feeling of doing
something for a child we can no longer hold.
9. Do something in memory of your child. Donate to a charity or fund
in his memory. Volunteer. My oldest daughter Rachel and I volunteer at
the Hospice Tree of Remembrance each December and share memories of Daniel
as we spend this time together.
10. If your bereavement support group has a special candle-lighting
service to remember the children in your area who have died, attend it.
Doing something in memory of your child with others who understand the
pain these holidays hold can be therapeutic.
11. Spend time reflecting on what the season is about. Everyone around
you may be frantic with attending parties, services, shopping and visiting
relatives. Perhaps you used to be the same way. Now you may want to avoid
some of the festivities. Give yourself permission to excuse yourself from
them. Light a candle in your favorite scent. Record some thoughts in a
journal. This is great therapy, too. One day you will wake up and
it will be January 2. The holidays will have ended. You will have made
it. If you are like me, you will find that surviving the tinsel has made
you stronger and although you may cry, somewhere within you, you will feel
that core of new steel.
Alice is Editor of Tributes Online E-Magazine and author of “Slices
of Sunshine” and “Down the Cereal Aisle”
Holiday Card with a Purpose
The first Christmas after my son, Ian, died, we made
up our own holiday cards with a special purpose. In
each card, we enclosed a self addressed, stamped
envelope.
The front of the card said:
"Holidays are for sharing special moments with
those we love. Here are some of our favorite holiday
memories.
The inside listed moments we remembered with our
children such as:
Sleeping in his new shoes Christmas night.
Singing baby sister to sleep in the dark.
The roaring sound of the VW engine that told us
Ian was
on his way home.
"I don't know how that beer can got there." (Yeah,
right!)
and more...And we asked the recipient to:
Please take a few moments and share some memories
of Ian with us in the enclosed self addressed, stamped
envelope.
Many did respond...and it's amazing what treasures
those little scraps of paper are to us. I would not
have those "stories" if I had not asked for them. I'm
glad I did.
Becky Sharpe ( Ian's mom )
Gainesville, GA TCF
Including a Picture of Our Loved One
I would like to share what I did in regard to Christmas cards the first
year Daniel was not with us. I had a friend take a picture
of all of us at Thanksgiving. Since our family is spread out
around the country I was able to have the imprinted cards read 'Peace -
from the Brocato and Morrison family of New Hampshire'. The
picture included my Dad, Mom, one Brother, two of my Sons, their
combined (at that time) five children, Me and an enlarged picture on the
wall of my son Daniel who now abides in heaven. My Dad was
seated under the picture of Daniel. Dad passed away 4 1/2 months later.
It is a picture we all now have copies of and treasure. I couldn't
leave Daniel out so that is how I handled it.
~Sally Brocato - Mom of Daniel - forever 19
~reprinted from Sharing Ideas for the Holidays
http://www.tcfatlanta.org/HolidayCards.html
“Special” Christmas Cards….You asked about "special" Christmas cards
and I will tell you about mine. My son Chris died on May 3, 1998. Two years
ago I came across a picture of him when he was in our church Christmas
program at 2 1/2. He was wearing a halo standing in front of the church's
Christmas tree. I printed these pictures and included them in our Christmas
card. I just typed his name birth date and Angel date.
Last year I remembered just how much Chris loved and enjoyed the story
of the Little Drummer Boy as a small child and in his high school years.
I found cards with the drummer boy on them and included just how this was
one of Chris' favorite Christmas stories and I told the recipient I wished
they had people in their lives that brought them as much happiness as Chris
had brought to ours in his short lifetime.(19)
When Chris was in the 3rd grade they had to write about their favorite
recipe. Chris' was Gingerbread men. After he was finished writing he asked
if he could make some and take them to the kids in his class. I have already
found Christmas cards with Gingerbreadmen on them. I am explaining Chris'
love for them and include the recipe with them. We live in a small town
(2400) and being an import hasn't been easy, but the community couldn't
be any closer than when a child died. We have quite a few families that
have lost children. In my one small block (5 houses) including the next
street over that are across our backyards (8 total) three of us have
lost children.
Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to tell about them.
Carol Schuh Grieving Mom to Christopher M. Schuh 1-13-79----5-3-98
I just have to say after reading the responses and ideas about Christmas
cards I actually was excited to do mine this year. I went out and
bought an angel stamp and also typed up some labels on my computer which
read:
December 9, 2001 is National Children's Memorial Day. Please light a
candle at 7:00 p.m. in memory of our Kelsey, and stuck them inside EVERY
Christmas card this year. I felt soooo good and felt like I was including
her in some way this year and by stamping an angel by our names made me
feel like I was recognizing her as a part of our family that I could feel
so good and proud of. Thanks to everyone who gave out these
ideas as it helped me so much this year as I am missing such a big
piece of the link….
Tina, Kelsey's Mommy Forever
Touched by an Angel
By Elaine E.Stillwell
Rockville Centre, New York
After the deaths of my two oldest children, 21-year-old Denis and 19-year-old
Peggy, in an August automobile accident, I didn't have the energy or desire
to go shopping for the holidays. It was just too painful. I didn't want
to see people, I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to stand in the middle
of a store in a puddle of tears, surrounded by things that brought back
haunting memories of the two children I had so recently buried.
But as the holidays approached, out of the blue, something very unexpected
and wonderful happened. In a local card store, I spotted a darling little
angel made of felt that seemed to call out to me, "Take me home!" Holding
it in my hand, the tiny angel offered comfort to my anguished heart. On
the spot, I decided to buy all of the six angels that were displayed, cleaning
out the store's inventory. This decision started a whole new adventure
for me and opened a welcome path to healing for my aching heart.
After that, no matter where I went, whenever I found an angel, I brought
it home. I discovered all kinds of angels: delicate porcelain ones; darling
ceramic boy and girl angel sets; cuddly, teddy-bear angels; cute doggie,
kitty-cat and piggy angels; shiny silver angels; elegant stained-glass
ones; colonial corn-husk ones; handmade crocheted angels and even some
made of macaroni. It was the only shopping I could handle in those early
months of grieving, and I did it passionately. Selecting the angels, buying
them and carrying them home became a sacred mission for me that kept me
alive. And to my amazement, it even kept me included in the upcoming Christmas
holidays. Best of all, it
kept Peggy and Denis remembered.
As I prepared my "first batch" of angels for Christmas presents that
year, busily inscribing my children's names and dates on them, wrapping
them ever so carefully, and figuring out to whom I wished to gift these
precious ornaments, I was filled with a sense of peace and comfort.
When the angels were ready for flight, I lovingly sent them to dear
relatives, special friends, college roommates, godparents and other bereaved
parents. Don't ask where I got the energy to shop for them, wrap them,
deliver them or cart them to the post office. My whole being was consumed
with this task that would keep my children's memories alive. My house looked
like an angel factory! God bless my dear husband. He just smiled, and he
never said, "Enough already!" He was thrilled to see me sitting at the
family room table so happily busy doing something that brought me peace
and a smile. My heart sang as I prepared all my angels for flight to other
homes.
Never did I realize what a joy it would be when we visited our relatives
and friends and saw our precious "Peggy and Denis" angels adorning their
Christmas trees and mantelpieces! In some homes, our angels are "taking
over" their trees! As the years have gone by, each of those dear families
annually unpacks our special angels, reminisces a little about our children,
reliving happy memories of them and even saying a little prayer for them.
Our hearts soar to know that Peggy and Denis will never be forgotten and
will be shared with generations to come.
Whether I was painting angels, putting colored ribbons on them, inscribing
them with my children's names, or making them myself as crafts, the process
released that awful ache in my heart. Although some people thought I was
a little wacky, the idea caught on quickly, and our closest friends looked
forward to seeing what "next year's angel" would be like. As a special
treat for us, our friends reciprocated by gifting us with the most charming
and unique angels that they came across in their travels-angels that we
never would have dreamed of owning.
Now, many years later, our Christmas tree truly makes everybody's heart
skip a beat and makes Peggy's and Denis' presence such an integral part
of this family occasion.
It's amazing what one little idea did for our hearts and for so many
others who have lost loved ones. Just like the dear lady who calls me "her
heart's best friend" and sends me a precious angel each Christmas to say
"thank you" for helping her survive the loss of her son, many others have
copied this idea and have also been rewarded with its therapeutic value.
One widower whispered to me, "What a great idea. I'm going to run out and
buy an angel for each of my children." All of a sudden, he had a spring
in his step as he figured out a way to help ease the pain in his own broken
heart and to keep his loving wife so beautifully remembered especially
by their grandchildren.
Even the families who suffered miscarriages, stillbirths and infant
deaths found solace in preparing their favorite angels for distribution
to special friends and relatives, to remember a baby that most of them
never even bad a chance to meet, but who would be a cherished part of the
family fabric forever. The good news is that as the years have gone by,
angel collecting is no longer limited to Christmas! You can notice this
phenomenon at our house. There is definitely a "heavenly" feeling as you
enter our home. A magnificent stained-glass angel adorning our dining room
window, a comfy angel quilt resting on our easy chair, heartwarming framed
letters of our children's names, spelling "Peggy" and "Denis," each letter
entwined with angel figures, music boxes and trinket boxes, platters, trivets,
calendars, towels, night-lights adorned with angels, a basket of reading
books about angels-all shout the loving presence of Peggy and Denis in
our everyday life. We are surrounded with poignant reminders of our precious
children that bring smiles to our faces and joy to our hearts.
When Peggy and Denis died in 1986, angels were hard to find. Now, they
are everywhere. Do you think I may have started something?
To share the comforting feeling that angels brought into my life, and
the joy that it gave me knowing Peggy and Denis would be remembered by
those to whom I gifted with those angels, I wrote, A Forever Angel, a crafts
book for children, published by Centering Corporation. It offers youngsters
the magical healing of creating angels for different occasions, especially
major holidays, in honor of their loved ones who died-grandma or grandpa,
mom or dad, sister or brother, dear friend, or family pet-using the things
they gave them or left behind. Making any of the craft ideas suggested
in the book presents a chance for kids to be creative, inventive, wacky,
loving and sentimental. It also offers children the opportunity to "open-up,"
to talk about their loved one and to share their memories in a very positive
way. A Forever Angel is a wonderful lesson in caring and sharing, so special
for young grieving hearts. A perfect gift, it is a paperback in a handy
children's size, and is a great resource for classroom teachers, counselors
and children's support groups, ages 8-16. After all, who can resist an
angel?
"Twas the Night Before Christmas"
~ For Bereaved Parents ~
'Twas the month before Christmas
and I dreaded the days,
That I knew I was facing –
the holiday craze.
The stores were all filled
with holiday lights,
In hopes of drawing customers
by day and by night.
As others were making their holiday plans,
My heart was breaking - I couldn't understand.
I had lost my
dear child a few years before,
And I knew what
my holiday had in store.
When out of nowhere, there arose such a sound,
I sprang to my feet and was looking
around,
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash
The sight that I saw
took my breath away,
And my tears turned to smiles in the light of the day.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a
cluster of butterflies fluttering near.
With beauty and grace they performed a dance,
I knew in a moment this
wasn't by chance.
The hope that they gave me was a sign from
above,
That my child was still near me and that I was loved.
The message they brought
was my holiday gift,
And I cried when I saw them
in spite of myself.
As I knelt closer to get a better view,
One allowed me to pet it - as if it knew -
That I
needed the touch of its fragile wings,
To help me get through the holiday scene.
In the days that followed
I carried the thought,
Of the message the
butterflies left in my heart -
That no matter what happens or what
days lie ahead,
Our children
are with us - they're not really dead.
Yes, the message of the butterflies still rings in
my ears,
A message of hope - a message so dear.
And I imagined they
sang as they flew out of sight,
"To all bereaved parents - We love you tonight!"
By Faye McCord - Newsletter Editor –
TCF, Jackson, MS
Blessings and Healing Memories
By Eloise Cole
Phoenix, Arizona
Those who are experiencing a holiday season after the death of someone
special in their lives often face that time with dread and foreboding rather
than with a spirit of anticipation and celebration. This year, in thinking
about Thanksgiving and the other approaching holidays, I was struck with
the significance of the inspirational piece, Risks, by Carol Sapin Gold:
To laugh is to risk appearing the fool. To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out is to risk involvement. To expose feelings is to risk exposing
,your true self. To place your ideas, your dreams, before the crowd is
to risk their loss. To love is to risk not being loved in return. To live
is to risk dying. To hope is to risk despair. To try is to risk failure.
Risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing. He
may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn, feel,
change, grow, love - live. Chained to his certitudes, he is a slave. He
has forfeited freedom. Only a person who risks is free.
At our house it has been several years since the deaths of our sons,
Mark and Dan and both of my parents. The first years after their respective
deaths, we found our family feeling adrift and set apart from the time
of celebration. Realistically, I can count many blessings-among them a
faith that provides comfort and strength, our two surviving children and
their families, and many a caring friend. But amidst all those blessings,
there is still the very real pain of missing some very special people.
I have learned that knowing on some intellectual level that I am well
blessed has not changed the fact that I have not always felt well blessed.
Head knowledge and heart knowledge are not always the same. The pain of
what I wanted and was missing overshadowed many of the blessings of my
life. Reading Risks was a reminder to me that in living, we risk dying;
in loving, we risk losing that special someone in our lives.
When I step back and really look at what my life might have been if
I had not risked the loving and the living, I realize that while I would
have missed some pain, more importantly, I would have missed countless
special moments and many indescribable joys. Part of who we are is who
we have learned to become because of those special people. Given the choice,
I would choose the pain of missing, rather than not risking love.
To know true joy, we must have experienced true pain. For our family,
one of the blessings we can count on is having risked the love. Love does
not have to die, nor do the memories have to fade; they are forever. That
indeed is being very well blessed.
Day to day coping with grief can be a huge task. Beginning in the autumn,
we enter a "stress corridor." Stress builds as the stores fill with decorations
and friends begin to discuss their holiday plans. When someone loved has
died, it is hard to even think about "getting through the holidays." Planning
and making choices are key parts of holiday coping, but when we use our
limited energy to plan a special activity or memorial, it may help soften
that painful time.
Write Out A Memory
Holiday invitations may abound, but planning personal time and time
with family and friends who were close to the deceased may prove helpful,
and in some ways healing. Perhaps you would like to invite family and friends
to write out a memory they have of your loved one. These treasured papers
then can be rolled and tied with ribbon and placed on a special little
tree or wreath or in a decorative bowl. Choose a time when you are all
together to undo the scrolls. Each person then has a chance to share the
memory, and the scrolls can be saved in a scrapbook or used again another
year.
Share a Memory
At a special gathering, you might ask each guest to bring a favorite
picture or memento, and during your time together, each person will have
an opportunity to share. A teenage girl whose mother had died brought a
sweatshirt that was worn and ragged but had been a favorite item of her
mother. A husband brought the personalized license plates that he had made
as a gift for his wife. Stacks of pictures and a pipe were the beginning
of storytelling for another family.
Create A Picture Tree
A "picture tree" can be fashioned by tying several small pictures with
ribbon and hanging them on a tree or wreath. The pictures can be "framed"
by backing each one with cardboard or poster board a bit larger than the
picture itself. The backing may be covered with wrapping paper or colored
foil or it could be decorated with paints or stickers. These pictures then
become a catalyst for sharing and storytelling.
Share a Blessing
Fashion a "blessings bowl" or a "grace bowl" by using a lump of clay.
Pass it among you, with each person helping to fashion the shape of the
bowl or object. When it is your
turn to work the soft clay, add your own curve or design and tell about
how you have been blessed or share a grace you have received from the person
who died. Many clays are available that are easy to use and dry easily
without baking. Some clays come in colors; others are easily painted with
acrylic paints.
Whatever you choose to do, choice is the key. While remembering may
be painful, the memories are gifts that we have been given that can be
enjoyed time after time, year after year. Storytelling and memories are
the gifts that will enable us to someday embrace the future.
Memories
by Eloise Cole
Memories are the mirrors of my mind,
reflecting my joy at having loved you.
Memories are the treasures
you have left behind.
Thoughts of you keep the lamp of love lit
in the recesses of my mind.
Memories are the miracles of my mind.
~from TCF Atlanta Online Sharing
Wishing you the best as we once more prepare ourselves to journey through
the holiday season with a smile on our face and a clamp on our heart.
In our Christmas Carol, Tiny Tim dies and we are changed forever, and not
unlike Scrooge we are forced to recognize the true meaning of Christmas.
Its sharing your gifts, not purchasing gifts; its not wrapping presents,
its being present and wrapping your arms around the ones you love; its
not getting Christmas cards out on time, its sending any card, anytime,
at the right time; its not having the biggest and best Christmas light
display, its displaying the best light that comes from you heart;
Turn on your heartlight this holiday season and to hell with the house
lights and whenever you light a candle say a silent prayer for all grieving
parents who struggle through the holiday season with a table with a missing
chair. Sorry to ramble on guys but its the day after Thanksgiving, I read
your email with story and poem and I am feeling a little melancholy.
Peace, love and light,
Mitch Carmody
Heartlightstudios.net
In the past few years I have made some wonderful friends in the Compassionate
Friends. Having never lost a child myself, I could never begin to say I
know how you feel. All I can do is listen to your hearts and learn from
you the pain of your loss. There is no easy time of the year when it comes
to missing your child, but I would imagine Christmas is especially difficult.
This poem is written for you....
"Christmas Memories"....Allison Chambers Coxsey http://www..allisonsheart.com/christmas/christmas.html
Christmas Memories
There is a memory in my heart,
When Christmas comes around;
Children's laughter filled the air,
And blessed it with joyous sound.
A little bit of magic,
Like sparkle on the snow;
Time stood still, now time is gone,
Where did the laughter go?
Where did the piping carols go,
The ones my child used to sing?
They're tucked so deeply in my heart,
In memories Christmas brings.
Where did the little stockings go,
That hung on the mantle with care?
Tucked away in my box of dreams,
Of the child no longer there.
For Christmas brings a special ache,
Deep within my soul;
For the child I loved and now is gone,
The half that made me whole.
Gone are the dreams of our future,
Left is a distant past;
Yet childish laughter rings in my heart,
And memories that will last.
Celebrate Christmas in Heaven, my child;
Let your laughter fill the air;
Until the day I am by your side,
My love will be with you there.
Allison Chambers Coxsey @ 2002
Words for the Holidays and "Any Time"
By Nita Aasen
St. Peter, Minnesota
“Happy Holidays!! I had never realized how many holidays had the words
"happy" or "merry" attached to the day or season prior to the deaths of
my two young adult sons, Erik and David, in a freak car accident on Thanksgiving
Day, 1994. Very early on in my grief journey, I became aware that those
words frequently had a very hollow ring for the bereaved during holidays
or any events such as birthdays, anniversaries, Mother's and Father's Day
that were typically thought of as being "happy." It was another one of
my many assumptions that was revised shortly after the accident.
While being confronted with the "happys" and "merrys" could present
a challenge at any time, it would likely become much more pronounced during
the holidays when families traditionally gather together --Thanksgiving,
Christmas and New Year's. But, to be fair, it may have been rather easy
to convey the impression that all was well and back to normal again.
As an example, several Christmases after my sons' deaths, we were spending
the holiday alone. But, true to form, my husband put up the outside decorations
shortly after Thanksgiving and everything looked just as it did prior to
their deaths. Well, not exactly! Not having the emotional energy or motivation
to go through the motions of decorating the living areas, I suggested that
the inside decorating be limited to setting up the tree. And so, just before
Christmas, my husband set up the tree, but without any lights or decorations.
In retrospect, the saying, "You can't judge a book by its cover," symbolized
the reality that what was seen on the outside may not resemble what was
actually happening on the inside, whether it be the outside or inside of
a home or the outside or inside of a soul.
Another subtle, yet poignant, acknowledgment that the holiday season
may be difficult was reflected in the day of remembrance chosen for National
Children's Memorial Day, the second Sunday in December. In addition to
commemorating the lives of all children who have died too soon, the day
gently acknowledged that many bereaved families continued to mourn without
a break during the holiday season and, in truth, all seasons. Another purpose
of this day of remembrance, then, has also been to educate the public that
the spirit of the season may be less than fully Spirited for both new and
seasoned grievers.
I have found New Year's to be a particularly difficult holiday. As the
first new year following Erik and
David's deaths approached, the hard fact that I would never be able
to share any part of any new year with them again, heightened the stark
reality of their absence. In the year of their deaths, we had, at least,
occupied the same world together for part of the year. But as I entered
each subsequent new year, I became aware that, as I moved on in time, I
also moved farther and farther away from the time when they had been a
part of this world. Consequently, with each passing year, the empty black
hole where all the "what would've been" questions about their lives (marriage,
children, jobs, etc.) have been dumped has become larger. In one of those
"aha" moments, I realized how my feelings of emptiness were directly connected
with my heaviness of heart. How paradoxical that something empty could
feel heavy! Not surprisingly, a prime time for the emptiness to become
heavier was during the holiday season.
Appropriate support would certainly go a long way in traversing the
maze of the holiday daze. Many bereaved parents would welcome the opportunity
to share their feelings about the holidays, regardless of the length of
time since the death event. If someone would have asked me, "The holidays
are coming around again, how's it going for you this year?" or "How do
the "happys" and "merrys" sound to you this holiday season?" I would have
had the opportunity to be honest about where I was in my grief journey.
Rather than a breezy "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year," I would find
it much more comforting if someone would say, "I'll be thinking of you
again this holiday season, knowing how much you'll be missing Erik and
David." This sensitive greeting, that does not speak, except to say thanks,
because presume happiness, would openly acknowledge that grief, rather
than taking a back seat, continues to shape what is meaningful and comforting
during those weeks. Or, perhaps, a caring gesture would communicate this
message more powerfully than words ever could.
One of my rituals has been placing luminaries (candles in brown bags)
out by Erik and David's graves on their birthdays, their death date, Christmas
and Valentine's Day. After several years of some rather wimpy winters,
we were once again having a real Minnesota winter with lots of snow and
below-zero days. Knowing that I needed to shovel a path out to their site,
I headed out to the cemetery Christmas Eve morning with a heavy heart.
This was definitely not a task I, as a parent, had ever expected to be
doing on Christmas. As I drove up to the site, I saw that a path had already
been shoveled and that the markers had been cleared off. Someone had not
only remembered but, with that gesture, affirmed my right to mourn. When
I got home, I called to confirm my hunch that a special couple had given
me this gift. I barely could the emotion was overwhelming They understood.
There was no need to explain why this act of kindness was so extraordinarily
meaningful to me. Christmas was equally tough for them because more than
six years prior, their daughter had also been killed in an accident.
Acknowledging that it is not possible to cancel the holidays or go into
hibernation for a couple of months, a bereaved sibling observed that holidays
may feel more like a "responsibility" than a celebration (Heavilin &
Heavilin, 2000). If that has been your reality, then you may have found
yourself continuing with some of your holiday traditions as a way of acknowledging
this responsibility while modifying others in small or significant ways.
Other rituals may be ignored completely, such as decorating a tree when
there has been no compelling reason to expend any more energy from your
already depleted emotional reserves. Another option would be doing something
completely different to symbolize how your lives have changed.
Many bereaved parents have found unique and meaningful ways of including
their child in family gatherings. One parent has bought an angel each Christmas
to symbolize how her daughter continues to be part of the family and to
that have gone by since her death. After cross-stitching Christmas stockings
for my surviving son and his family, I cross-stitched stockings for Erik
and David that are placed by their pictures during every holiday season.
For larger families than ours, family members could place a written memory
in a stocking or memory basket that could be read at the time of gift opening
or during a meal. In that way, the younger ones who never knew your child
can get a sense of their personality, of how much they are loved and how
they continue to be a member of the family.
You may have also found that looking for a holiday card that fits your
changed life somewhat challenging.
But there are options! One possibility would be forgoing sending cards
altogether, another one would be to make your own computer-generated card.
In this day and age anyone, of any age, can make their own cards. Purely
by happenstance, my preschool-age grandsons painted something that was
abstract yet very pleasing to the eye - the gentle blues, warm pinkish
reds and subtle yellow-greens symbolized for me what the spirit world might
be like, warm, colorful, peaceful. Their paintings were scanned into the
computer and out came two nontraditional looking cards. While they did
not look at all "Christmasy," they were perfect for our holiday message:
"May peace be your gift this Christmas and your treasure in the New Year."
And so began a meaningful tradition of Visions of hope sending out cards
that reflected our grandchildren's progression in their artistic development
over the years.
Another option has been available from support groups or magazines,
such as the Sudden Infant Death Center and Bereavement magazines. Being
acutely aware of the need for alternative holiday cards, these organizations
have provided a wonderful service by offering cards focusing on the themes
of peace, hope, and love.
When the hope that your child would experience all of life's stages
and milestones has been lost, hope, of necessity, changes dramatically
following your child's death. In changing its form, hope, far from being
static, has likely taken different meanings over time. Functioning somewhat
like a spark plug, hope could help generate the energy or the "oomph" that
would help carry you through each lap of your grief journey.
May comfort, hope, and love be your gifts to give and receive during
each holiday season and your treasure "any time."
Wanted:
Strong, deep person,
~wise enough to allow me to grieve
in the depth of who I am,
~strong enough to hear my pain without turning away.
I need someone
~not too close, because then
you couldn’t help me to see,
~not too objective, because then you might not care,
~not too aloof, because then you couldn’t hug me,
~not too caring, because then
I’d be tempted to let you live my life for me.
I need someone who believes that the sun will rise
Again, but who does not fear my darkness or my walk
Through the night.
Someone who can point out the rocks in my way without
Making me a child by carry me.
Someone who can stand in thunder,
And watch the lightening, and believe in a rainbow.
~Fr. J. Mahoney
The pain passes but the beauty remains
~Pierre Auguste Renoir
I really have loved reading about everyone's children and their special
Christmas memories. My Nina loved Christmas. From the time she was
little she always took whatever little money she had saved up and bought
well-thought out gifts for her family and friends. She enjoyed giving gifts
to loved ones no matter how inexpensive, making Christmas cookies, decorating
the tree, being with family. I think it interesting that the last Christmas
that she was with us she bought me a ceramic angel. I hadn't even started
my angel collection until after she had died and sometimes I wonder about
that gift and why she bought that for me that particular Christmas. Was
she sending me a message subconsciously that said "Next year I won't be
here in the physical sense at Christmastime, but I will be here with you
in spirit." How does that saying go...something like "The presence of her
absence is everywhere." Six Christmases later and I miss her so much.
Cathy, Nina's mom, St. Paul, MN TCF
Full Hearts and Empty Stockings
by Margaret Brownley
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.... This happy family
tradition becomes yet
another painful reminder of all that we've lost. What do you
do about the stocking? Do you hang it up
or leave it in the box? Leave it empty or fill it with goodies? Or
simply skip the tradition altogether?
With a little thought and imagination, the Christmas stocking can
become a symbol of family unity and love.
Here are some ideas to get you started:
1. Pin your loved one's pictures on the outside of the stocking.
2. Ask friends and family to write a letter to your loved one
and decide on a special time to take turns reading them aloud.
(Have a box of tissues handy.)
3. Fill the stocking with toys for a needy child.
4. Fill the stocking with some of your loved one's cherished
belongings that you plan to give to family members and let these be
the last gifts you pass out. (Gifts can be a loved one's character
traits such as a sense of humor, patience, kindness or creativity.)
5. Tuck a happy family surprise perhaps the promise of a trip
or special outing-into your loved one's stocking. Make the
stocking bulge with love notes-one to every family member. Tell each
person how much they mean to you.
6. Fill a loved one's stocking with sweet memories, or symbols
of love. Fill it with hope and faith. Fill it with the promise
of bright tomorrows. Hang the stocking with care.
~reprinted from Bereavement Magazine Nov/Dec 2002 1-888-604-4673
Tuesday's Child
Jayne, I just was looking at the pictures of all the children who will
be on the Christmas Tree skirt. And I want to tell you and Wayne what a
great job you two do! But as I was looking through the many many faces,
I could not help but to feel so saddened by the fact that there are way
to many pictures here, and just to imagine these are but a portion of the
children, it just breaks my heart. And for all those Parents out there
who have lost a child not yet born who have no pictures, my heart goes
out to each of them.
Christmas Tree of Memory 2002
I stare at the pictures, I see before me
Each face has a name, and a history.
Young and old, every color and creed
I wipe away the tears and pray for the strength I need.
To many faces, almost to much to bear
As I gaze at the faces that I see there.
Each face has a family, left here to morn
From the oldest, on down to the newly just born.
Every face tells a story, of a families pain
Now smiles are frozen in time in a frame.
Soon the faces will be lovingly placed.....
Upon a skirt, for under the Christmas Tree they will grace.
Yes, each face has a name, and I pray that all who see...
That families place their hearts under this tree.
Sheila Simmons, Atlanta TCF Online Sharing
~ So Not One Will Be Forgotten~
Symphony
by Dana Gensler, South Central, KY
When I was a young musician my dad liked to tease me by playing the
notes of the C-Major scale: "DO-RE-MI-FA-SO-LA-TI...." then he would
stop, step back and wait for my reaction. No matter where I was,
my response was certain. It would drive me absolutely crazy until
I rushed to the piano and played the final note that would make the scale
complete.
I feel much the same way about Lindsay at times. Fives years ago
we opened the pages of a manuscript and began what appeared to be a very
interesting overture in our lives. We didn't just open a book, we
were the composers and she was our composition. The love and promises
grew within me, along with a multitude of ideas and plans we had for the
way things would be. We were shaping the future - ours, the baby's
and the world's.
We had only concluded the prelude when the book suddenly and abruptly
closed with the clashing of cymbals, just as tightly as the lid on her
tiny white casket. There was a supreme silence in her death, but
our hearts thundered on as the pounding of tympani drums. I could
plead, I could cry, but I could not change what happened. I tried
to bargain with God. I tried to deny it. I tried to run from
it. For awhile, I tried to pretend it didn't hurt. Our lives
were overshadowed by an ominous quality - life was uncertain, death was
not. We could not escape it. No matter how hard I tried to
understand , it was far beyond my comprehension. I chased my
"elusive dream" in circles, around and around, until I was utterly exhausted
from the effort.
I am her mother, and yet her life seemed so incomplete, without purpose
or accomplishment. It was my responsibility to mold and shape her
life, and I thought I had been denied that privilege until I talked with
my bereaved friends. I discovered we can open the pages of our book
again. We are still her parents, and she can still make a difference
in someone's life - but only if we allow ourselves to let her. Only
I can write the notes that complete her life. And I know now the
last note will never be written until we hold her in our arms again.
(Then it will sing forever!)
I thought the symphony was over, that the pomp and circumstances of
her life had been stilled, but that is not true. It is playing, yet
in a different way than we ever dreamed or originally planned. The
melody becomes more beautiful each time we touch another person with love
and understanding, and that feels very comforting to us. I
believe she would approve.
Sounds of Christmas 2003 Memory Tree
A life is like a song we write
In our own tone and key,
Each life we touch reflects a note
That forms the melody.
We choose the theme and chorus
Of the song to bear our name,
And each will have a special sound
No two can be the same
So when someone we love departs,
In memory we find
Their song plays on within the hearts
Of those they leave behind.
Jimmy Richard Adams III - Freddie "Bo" Allen, Jr. - Jon Michael Altier
- Steven Joseph Amato - Danny Amos - Kristin Brooke Anderson - Sarah
Jane Anderson - Julie Lyn Anglavar - James R. Avery III - James
Stephen Baird - Mendy Lynn Barefield - Nathan Cozby Barrett - Stephen Beam
- Shelley Marie Beasley - Ned "Ernest III" Behnke - Jordan Christopher
Lee Booher - Maria-Victoria Boucugnani - Marjorie Mae Bowen
- Christopher Boyd - Ashley Michelle Brackett - Edward
Brackett - Jeffrey Bradley - Kevin Lamar Brady - Bo Briscoe - Roberta Jo
Brookbank - Kara Leigh Broughton - Cain Brown - Chandler Ford Brown - Doc
Brown - John Eli Brown - Melissa Dee Brown - Jessica Lyn Bryl - Raymond
Buczek - Sherry Ann Burdette - Simon Burr - Cory Alexander Bute - Joseph
"Joey" Capron - Violet Anna Carey - Iris Mary Carey - Brody Carrick - Mark
James Cerminara -Anna Elizabeth Chambers - John Christensen - Steven
"Jeremy" Classen - Elizabeth Kate "Katie" Cleveland - Michael Columbus
Jr. - Misty Dawn Conn - Rosa' Louise Conn - "Andrew" Jason Cowart - Javus
Albert Crane - Robin Ann Craney - Matthew (Matt) Thomas Crowell -
Scott Robert Cummins - Clarissa Cunningham - Teresa Grutt Davis - Samuel
Charles Deane - Allen (AJ) Marshall DeVol - Timmy de St. Aubin - Christopher
Dimmick - Blake Raymond Divido - Blake Raymond Divido - Stephanie Jean
Phillips (Drinnon) - Jacob Martin Drollinger - Kyle Eastham - Kathy Edwards
- Toby Edwards - Russell Scott Ellers - Johnathan D. England - Glenn
Ewing - Christopher Ronald Faller - Todd Alden Feeney - Micah Austin Ferris
- Raeyn Jolie Leepier-Freeman - Brian Gaertig - Jeremy Gillen - Toby Michael
Gizzonio - Thomas Earlie Glenn - Chad Gordon - Kenneth Charles "Ryan" Gosse
- Kyle Thomas Greenfield - Michelle Marie Greever - Jennifer Gryzinski
- David Haizlip - Amber Christine Hargrove - Shelley Harmon - Jaryn Harrison
- Emily Hastings - Heidi Christina Hatfield - Robert Allen Hatfield - Dustin
Hay - Machera Renee' Henderson - Micki Henderson - David Mitchell
Henshaw - Kay Cee Herring - Trey Heye - Andrew "Drew" Holder - Bryan Holl
- Lance Porter Hopkins - James F. Horton - Quiellin Horton - Thomas Bryan
Hostetler - Teresa Wesley Hough - Shelly Huddleston - Carissa Ellen Hunsaker
- "Christopher" Dean Hunter - Jeremy A. Imrie - Colby Ivey - Charles William
"Chip" James, Jr. - Trent William Johnson - Michael Kaiser
- Andrew Phillip Keeley - Kerri Kristen – Keith - Patrick Ray Kelly - James
T. Kieley - Laurie J. King - Victoria King - Matthew E. Koenning - Ryan
Koerner - Michael Steven Kolcun - Matthew Joseph Kusila - Cody Dylan Kyle
- Janet Ford Lambert - Matt Lane - Kellie Louise Larivee - Michael Lindsey
- Shawn-Bert Little - Joey Lee Long - Gary Lowder, Jr. - Jay Douglas
Luckey - Christopher J. Lynch - James M. Lyons - Kristina Williams MacArthur
- Kathy Joe Maynard - Casey McCoy - Tommy McDonald - Joshua Bradley McGuirt
- Tracy Regan McKenna - Matthew Meehan - Trevor Glenn Meek - Kegan Meyer
- Jamie Miller - Barbara Jean Mixon - Kimberly Ann Moore - Mandi
Lynn Mast - Alexis "Lexi" Mayberry - Clay Miller - Trinity Minton - Megan
Denise Murphy - Ashley Nelson - Mandy Nestor - Jesse Lee Nixon - Clayton
Royce Olvey - Thomas (Tommy) Edward O'Neill, Jr. - Christopher Steven
Ownings - Brian Parker - Timothy Parker - Robert D. Parsons - Jefferey
Armstrong Patterson - Thomas Michael Pattillo - Thomas Michael Pattillo
- Danny Joseph Pedro - Charles Pilgreen - Kristen "Holli" Pippin - Derrick
Plankenhorn - Kenny Plouff - Jeffrey Lee Powell - Nicole Ann Ratigan -
Antoinette Redpath - Michele Reno - David Ridley - Jeanne Lynn Roberts
- Nathan Roberts - Wesley Roberts - Ashley Nicole Romer - Katharine
Ross - Lisa Maree Rossi - Shawn Russell - Ben Sanderson - Robert (Robbie)
Andrew Schmeelk - Christopher M. Schuh - Brian C. Schuster - Clayton Thomas
Sechrist - Ian Sharpe - Steven "Scott" Shelton - Kelley Elaine Shumate
- Chris Simpson - Heather Sisk - Melia Sisk - Marina "Lelu" Slama - Matthew
Lee Smith - William "Billy" Smutny - Lewis Trevor Speed - Rebecca Steinbach
- Edward L. Stempien - William Stephens - Kevin Stewart -Benjamin Stricklin
- Tyler Stupka - Amanda Nicole Sullivan - Dustin Charles Sumner - David
Teddlie - Amber Leigh Thompson - Melanie Brooke Thompson - Victor David
Thompson Jr. - Tia Shuri Townsend - Glenn James Treakle - Stephen
Bradley Turley - Elizabeth "Beth" Jane Underwood - Justin van Brakle
- Paul Wakeham - Jason Cody Walker - Melissa Ann Wallace - Amanda Warnock
- Jared Webb - Jason Webb - Kristina (Nina) Westmoreland - Caitlyn Renee
White - Chip Whitley - Aaron Geddings Williams - Philip Brett Williams
- Jason Wilshe - Kariann Womack - Justin Wood - Randall "Randy" Keith Wright
- Spencer Blake Youngblood - Azali Yutaka
Christmas Roses
By Margaret Brownley
Simi Valley, California
No family get-together is complete without someone beginning a conversation
with "Remember when..."
My children take special delight in recounting some of my past follies.
One of their favorite stories involves my habit of forgetting where I hide
gifts. When the children were small, I blamed Santa for any gift that "miraculously"
showed up after Christmas. "He left them on the roof," I'd say or, "Santa
was too tired to bring them down the chimney." These stories are told every
year without fail - and, to this day, Santa still leaves a gift or two
on the "roof."
Our treasure chest of family memories will be shared and laughed over
long after my husband and I are gone. Italian novelist, Italo Svevo, wrote,
"God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December."
Those of us in grief sometimes find more thorns than roses that first
Christmas alone; memories bring more pain than pleasure. It takes time
and sometimes several Christmases before memories bring smiles instead
of tears, but don't let this keep you from sharing your family stories.
You may be surprised to find that a single "rose" inspires a whole bouquet
of laughter.
White roses blossom in memory of lost love still fresh in my heart.
Haiku by Diantha Ain