Thanksgiving is often seen as a time to reflect on the things in our lives that we should be thankful for. It is a time to remember more of the blessings and less of the trials that visit us during the year.
This Thanksgiving also happens to also be my son’s birthday. This year, Brandon would have been 14 years old. I could think about all of the Thanksgivings that I have celebrated without him, the birthday presents that went unopened, and the years of memories that do not fill my photo albums. I know that anyone who has had a child die understands the grief that fills our holiday seasons. It is so easy to go to that place of loss and sorrow at this time of the year. Instead, this year I chose to see, that even though I only had Brandon for 2 ½ years, I am so thankful that I had him for 2 ½ years.
I am thankful that because of Brandon my life was changed, I am thankful that because of him I am a better person, I am thankful that because of him, I can help others who are in pain, I am thankful that because of him, I have new friends, I am thankful because of him, I have a very fulfilling job, and I am thankful that on this Thanksgiving day, what would have been his 14th birthday, I can celebrate and be thankful for the amazing child that he was.
Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.
Melody Beattie
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”
--Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Will you ever ‘get over’ the death of your child?
What a joyful family celebration—the marriage of my lovely first-born, twin daughter Charlotte to Greg, a kind, intelligent, outdoor enthusiast. The ceremony included familiar wedding traditions, including one that is peculiar to our family.
I carried a bridesmaid’s bouquet as my son Keith escorted me down the aisle. Before taking my seat, I placed the bouquet on the altar next to a picture of my daughter Alicea, a pajama-clad three-year-old, frozen in time on Christmas morning, hugging her new Teddy Bear. I lit a candle in her memory.
Alicea’s picture, her bridesmaid’s bouquet and a memorial candle also graced a table at her sister Renee’s wedding five years earlier.
To some, who never endured the death of a child, our family’s memorial ritual during a joyful family occasion might seem inappropriate. After all, Alicea has been dead for 22 years. This May we should have celebrated her 26th birthday, but she drowned in a neighbor’s unsecured swimming pool on May 27, 1988, about a week before her fourth birthday.
Other bereaved parents would understand. It’s common, and normal, to track the imagined life of a dead child. It’s a death out of order. When we bury our child we also bury the future goodnight kisses and bedtime stories, their senior prom, their high school and college graduations, their wedding, our future grandchildren and all the other significant events we will never share. Our memorial rituals acknowledge that their brief lives meant something—that they haven’t been forgotten.
In the early days of my grief, when the pain was raw and searing, I remember telling a grief counselor who worked with a local chapter of The Compassionate Friends (a national support group for bereaved parents http://www.thecompassionatefriends.org) that I didn’t think I could survive such intense sorrow. She, a bereaved parent herself, said, “You’re right; the person you were before Alicea died will not survive. You have two choices. You can become a bitter person, or you can become a better person. But you can never go back to being the same person you were before your loss.”
To honor Alicea’s memory I try to educate others about child safety issues, especially drowning prevention. I had a state-wide swimming pool barrier code passed in Pennsylvania. I served as a Compassionate Friends phone friend to newly bereaved parents. And I never look away or try to change the subject when someone in pain needs to talk, or just cry. I think this helped me become a better person.
To newly bereaved parents I want to say, don’t hesitate to reach out for support. Give yourself permission to grieve on your own terms. Most of all, don’t let others, who have no idea what you’re going through, impose a timetable on your grief by suggesting that you should be “over this by now.” You don’t “get over” the death of your child, you go through it.
Time will blunt the intense pain you feel. The searing anguish will gradually give way to a dull ache and eventually you will find peace and happiness in life again. Best of all, you will enjoy the precious time spent with loved ones as you never have before.
Sure, I cried during Charlotte and Greg’s wedding, but they were tears of joy, not sadness. For I knew, perhaps better than most parents, what a privilege it was to watch my daughters grow to beautiful womanhood, to remember their senior prom, high school and college graduations and to sing Sunrise, Sunset during their weddings. I’m happily looking forward to Keith’s college graduation and to reading bedtime stories with my future grandchildren.
Bev Payton
--Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Will you ever ‘get over’ the death of your child?
What a joyful family celebration—the marriage of my lovely first-born, twin daughter Charlotte to Greg, a kind, intelligent, outdoor enthusiast. The ceremony included familiar wedding traditions, including one that is peculiar to our family.
I carried a bridesmaid’s bouquet as my son Keith escorted me down the aisle. Before taking my seat, I placed the bouquet on the altar next to a picture of my daughter Alicea, a pajama-clad three-year-old, frozen in time on Christmas morning, hugging her new Teddy Bear. I lit a candle in her memory.
Alicea’s picture, her bridesmaid’s bouquet and a memorial candle also graced a table at her sister Renee’s wedding five years earlier.
To some, who never endured the death of a child, our family’s memorial ritual during a joyful family occasion might seem inappropriate. After all, Alicea has been dead for 22 years. This May we should have celebrated her 26th birthday, but she drowned in a neighbor’s unsecured swimming pool on May 27, 1988, about a week before her fourth birthday.
Other bereaved parents would understand. It’s common, and normal, to track the imagined life of a dead child. It’s a death out of order. When we bury our child we also bury the future goodnight kisses and bedtime stories, their senior prom, their high school and college graduations, their wedding, our future grandchildren and all the other significant events we will never share. Our memorial rituals acknowledge that their brief lives meant something—that they haven’t been forgotten.
In the early days of my grief, when the pain was raw and searing, I remember telling a grief counselor who worked with a local chapter of The Compassionate Friends (a national support group for bereaved parents http://www.thecompassionatefriends.org) that I didn’t think I could survive such intense sorrow. She, a bereaved parent herself, said, “You’re right; the person you were before Alicea died will not survive. You have two choices. You can become a bitter person, or you can become a better person. But you can never go back to being the same person you were before your loss.”
To honor Alicea’s memory I try to educate others about child safety issues, especially drowning prevention. I had a state-wide swimming pool barrier code passed in Pennsylvania. I served as a Compassionate Friends phone friend to newly bereaved parents. And I never look away or try to change the subject when someone in pain needs to talk, or just cry. I think this helped me become a better person.
To newly bereaved parents I want to say, don’t hesitate to reach out for support. Give yourself permission to grieve on your own terms. Most of all, don’t let others, who have no idea what you’re going through, impose a timetable on your grief by suggesting that you should be “over this by now.” You don’t “get over” the death of your child, you go through it.
Time will blunt the intense pain you feel. The searing anguish will gradually give way to a dull ache and eventually you will find peace and happiness in life again. Best of all, you will enjoy the precious time spent with loved ones as you never have before.
Sure, I cried during Charlotte and Greg’s wedding, but they were tears of joy, not sadness. For I knew, perhaps better than most parents, what a privilege it was to watch my daughters grow to beautiful womanhood, to remember their senior prom, high school and college graduations and to sing Sunrise, Sunset during their weddings. I’m happily looking forward to Keith’s college graduation and to reading bedtime stories with my future grandchildren.
Bev Payton
Monday, August 2, 2010
Memorial memberships are now being offered by the NDPA. This is a great way to honor your child or loved one and be a part of an organization that is dedicated to water safety.
Below are the memberships that are available:
PRIMARY MEMORIAL MEMBERSHIP (No Charge)
The NDPA Primary Memorial Membership is designed for any person who would like to join the NDPA in memory of an immediate family member who died from a drowning-related incident. The Primary Memorial Membership is set-up in the name of the family member who establishes this membership as the holder of the primary membership, and allows other people to join the NDPA as a Memorial Tribute Member under your family’s Primary Memorial Membership. The Primary Memorial Member will receive an annual report showing the other Memorial Tribute Memberships that are connected with the Primary Memorial Membership, as well as the amount of donations that were received by the NDPA in memory of your loved one.
MEMORIAL TRIBUTE MEMBERSHIP (minimum $25 donation)
The NDPA Memorial Tribute Membership is designed for family and friends of a person with a Primary Memorial Membership. This allows family and friends to join the NDPA in memory of someone who has died from a drowning-related incident. The membership donation is discounted to $25, but additional donations made to the NDPA through this membership type will help further the NDPA’s mission to prevent drowning.
Below are the memberships that are available:
PRIMARY MEMORIAL MEMBERSHIP (No Charge)
The NDPA Primary Memorial Membership is designed for any person who would like to join the NDPA in memory of an immediate family member who died from a drowning-related incident. The Primary Memorial Membership is set-up in the name of the family member who establishes this membership as the holder of the primary membership, and allows other people to join the NDPA as a Memorial Tribute Member under your family’s Primary Memorial Membership. The Primary Memorial Member will receive an annual report showing the other Memorial Tribute Memberships that are connected with the Primary Memorial Membership, as well as the amount of donations that were received by the NDPA in memory of your loved one.
MEMORIAL TRIBUTE MEMBERSHIP (minimum $25 donation)
The NDPA Memorial Tribute Membership is designed for family and friends of a person with a Primary Memorial Membership. This allows family and friends to join the NDPA in memory of someone who has died from a drowning-related incident. The membership donation is discounted to $25, but additional donations made to the NDPA through this membership type will help further the NDPA’s mission to prevent drowning.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The dictionary describes Grief as: a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow.
What it should stand for is:
Gut
Ripping
Indescribably
Excruciating
Feelings
Anyone who has experienced the death of a child or family member can understand what I am talking about. As a Mother of a child that drown, I know these feelings first hand.
When I went to groups or talked to Doctor’s they all described the grief process as stages. The stages that they said I would go through were: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
I am not sure if there is a script for grief or a stage that we must pass through before we get to the next. Can we expect to feel any of our emotions as a stage? Or do they ebb and flow going back and fourth in constant movement. Oh, believe me I went through some phases. I was numb, depressed, angry, and disorganized. I felt these “stages” in no particular order. The “stages” of denial and bargaining that they talk about, I don’t believe I passed through. I knew what happened, Brandon drown, and I knew there was no way to bargain my way out of it.
I think what I came to understand is that the grief process is not linear, but it moves in cycles. I saw it described once as a spiral staircase, as though it seems as if you are going in circles. Sometimes it feels as if the staircase goes on forever. Yet by moving forward through the process you are making progress. I think for me the important thing was to make progress. In what stage or order they came in was not as important as it was to move forward. I could not hold on to those gut ripping indescribably excruciating feelings of suffering. I chose to move on through the “stages” to the last of which they call Acceptance and hope.
As a parent it is hard to even think about accepting the death of a child. There is fear that if I accept it then that means I am forgetting my child, or we might feel guilty that somehow we are okay even though our child has died. Now, that does not mean that I do not miss Brandon, or that I still don’t cry sometimes or that I will ever forget what a blessing he is in my life. I just wanted to put my energy in a place where I could take what happened and somehow make a difference for others. For me getting to acceptance meant I could honor Brandon because it was and is an honor to have him in my life. But grief is an individual process. There are no timelines, completion dates or a right or wrong way to grieve. Being an individual with different knowledge bases and coping abilities will give us different emotional reactions to our varied life experiences. I feel that it is important to know that we must move forward somehow. I feel that to prolong the process or not feel because of fear only keeps us on that spiral staircase longer.
What it should stand for is:
Gut
Ripping
Indescribably
Excruciating
Feelings
Anyone who has experienced the death of a child or family member can understand what I am talking about. As a Mother of a child that drown, I know these feelings first hand.
When I went to groups or talked to Doctor’s they all described the grief process as stages. The stages that they said I would go through were: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
I am not sure if there is a script for grief or a stage that we must pass through before we get to the next. Can we expect to feel any of our emotions as a stage? Or do they ebb and flow going back and fourth in constant movement. Oh, believe me I went through some phases. I was numb, depressed, angry, and disorganized. I felt these “stages” in no particular order. The “stages” of denial and bargaining that they talk about, I don’t believe I passed through. I knew what happened, Brandon drown, and I knew there was no way to bargain my way out of it.
I think what I came to understand is that the grief process is not linear, but it moves in cycles. I saw it described once as a spiral staircase, as though it seems as if you are going in circles. Sometimes it feels as if the staircase goes on forever. Yet by moving forward through the process you are making progress. I think for me the important thing was to make progress. In what stage or order they came in was not as important as it was to move forward. I could not hold on to those gut ripping indescribably excruciating feelings of suffering. I chose to move on through the “stages” to the last of which they call Acceptance and hope.
As a parent it is hard to even think about accepting the death of a child. There is fear that if I accept it then that means I am forgetting my child, or we might feel guilty that somehow we are okay even though our child has died. Now, that does not mean that I do not miss Brandon, or that I still don’t cry sometimes or that I will ever forget what a blessing he is in my life. I just wanted to put my energy in a place where I could take what happened and somehow make a difference for others. For me getting to acceptance meant I could honor Brandon because it was and is an honor to have him in my life. But grief is an individual process. There are no timelines, completion dates or a right or wrong way to grieve. Being an individual with different knowledge bases and coping abilities will give us different emotional reactions to our varied life experiences. I feel that it is important to know that we must move forward somehow. I feel that to prolong the process or not feel because of fear only keeps us on that spiral staircase longer.
Monday, January 11, 2010
A New Year
For most of the world the New Year starts with the making of resolutions, or the feeling of having a fresh start. For the grieving parent, the New Year is marked by the passage of time since our child died. Often, we live through the year thinking about what we are missing with our child. What would they be doing in 2010? What would our lives look like if they were still here?
For me, I am making conscious changes in my approach to this New Year. Instead of focusing on how my heart aches with missing Brandon (this year would be year number eleven) and what he would be doing or what he would be like this year, I am resolute to think of all the wonderful people and blessings that have come my way since his death and of the wonderful possibilities for 2010. I believe that if too much time is spent remembering sadness and tragedy, you will continue to live sadness and tragedy today. If we can remember the blessings and happy times and focus on the opportunities that have been afforded us to make a difference, we will be living that in the present moment instead. I don’t usually make resolutions, but this year my resolution or as defined, my “firmness of purpose” it to continue to look for the opportunities for growth and how to make this year an opportunity to make positive changes for me and others.
Brandon may not be here physically this year, but I know he is with me and I am amazed at how he gifts me with wisdom each and every year that goes by.
For most of the world the New Year starts with the making of resolutions, or the feeling of having a fresh start. For the grieving parent, the New Year is marked by the passage of time since our child died. Often, we live through the year thinking about what we are missing with our child. What would they be doing in 2010? What would our lives look like if they were still here?
For me, I am making conscious changes in my approach to this New Year. Instead of focusing on how my heart aches with missing Brandon (this year would be year number eleven) and what he would be doing or what he would be like this year, I am resolute to think of all the wonderful people and blessings that have come my way since his death and of the wonderful possibilities for 2010. I believe that if too much time is spent remembering sadness and tragedy, you will continue to live sadness and tragedy today. If we can remember the blessings and happy times and focus on the opportunities that have been afforded us to make a difference, we will be living that in the present moment instead. I don’t usually make resolutions, but this year my resolution or as defined, my “firmness of purpose” it to continue to look for the opportunities for growth and how to make this year an opportunity to make positive changes for me and others.
Brandon may not be here physically this year, but I know he is with me and I am amazed at how he gifts me with wisdom each and every year that goes by.
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