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When David Kessler's publicist asked if he could come on the podcast to promote his newest workbook, Finding Meaning: Grief Workbook: Tools for Releasing Pain and Remembering with Love, I felt honored. David Kessler is one of the world's foremost experts on grief and loss. He has written six best-selling books over the years, including two that he co-authored with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. He founded the website grief.com, which boasts over 5 million yearly visits.
Despite these accolades, I admire David most for his approach to life after becoming a bereaved dad. When David's younger son, David, died suddenly in 2016, he found that he could not prepare for such pain. David says that he wanted to call every grieving parent whom he had counseled to say he hadn't understood the depth of their pain. David told grieving parents to start therapy and go to support groups, but he did not know just how difficult that was for a newly bereaved parent. David says that it took him three times to get the courage to attend his first grief support group. He sat in the group staring at a table with his books on it, no longer the grief expert, but instead a bereaved dad.
After the death of his son, David learned so much that he hadn't truly understood before. He learned that the pain of grief was incredibly deep, but if you took time to excavate through the pain, meanings could be revealed. With the blessing of the Kubler-Ross family in 2019, David wrote a new book, Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief. Since the book was published, he realized that a personal workbook might be an even better way for people to find meaning in their lives. David says the workbook is a way to 'get the pain out of you and into the workbook.' It is a truly healing experience to complete the workbook.
I want to close today with what David said to me at the end of our interview. 'See the meaning you are making in the lives you are touching.' Every time you talk to another person, you are making meaning, whether you go on a podcast to share your story with thousands or sit at a kitchen table and share with one person.
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'Is life still worth living?' 'Will I ever be happy again?
These are questions often asked by bereaved parents. They are asked quietly amongst other grieving parents or therapists. They are often left unsaid entirely but still plague us inside. We are afraid to voice them, afraid to think of what others might do or say - afraid that we will offend our living family members if they learn that these questions are in our heads.
Today's guest, Jae Hee, was having these very thoughts in the months after her 5-month-old daughter, Alina, died of a genetic disease, but no one, not even her family, knew. From the outside, Jae Hee looked happy. She was cracking jokes at work. She was laughing and interacting with others, but on the inside, her passion for life was gone. As the weeks passed, Jae Hee wondered if life was always going to feel this way.
About two months after Alina died, Jae Hee started listening to the podcast and learned that she was not alone in her feelings. The podcast recommendation came from a friend of a friend whom Jae Hee later learned was a bereaved sister who started listening to better understand her parents' grief. As Jae Hee thought of her older daughter, she decided to sit down with this woman to talk with her.
This new friend said to Jae Hee the same thing that a nurse told Eric soon after Andy's death. She said that after her sibling died, she never felt like she was enough for her parents. She said they were never truly there for her after the death of her brother. Their happiness was gone. This woman still loves her parents deeply, but she always wished that they could have a love for life again.
This conversation profoundly hit Jae Hee. She didn't want her older daughter to live her life longing to see her parents happy. She wanted to truly be happy again. She thought of Alina and her short life - a life so much shorter than Jae Hee wanted it to be, but every second of it was filled with love. Jae Hee and her remaining family deserve all of that love and joy as well.
Is life still worth living? Yes, it is. Will I ever be happy again? Yes, Jae Hee and I can be, and so can you.
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Today's guest, Elizabeth, lived through a nightmare after moving her oldest son, Henry, into college. Elizabeth never imagined that on his first day of class, only days after leaving a smiling Henry in his dorm room, he would be killed in a freak accident on campus. Elizabeth's safe world was completely shattered. She learned that accidents happen on college campuses and that Henry was not the only US college student who would never come home again.
One year later, Elizabeth was understandably worried when Henry's younger brother got ready to move across the country to start college. As much as her rational self knew that it was not likely that they would suffer another tragic death, the fear could not be shaken. Elizabeth and her husband did what other people thought was completely crazy. They moved across the country to Washington DC to be near their younger son as he started college. Elizabeth knew that simply living nearby would not offer more protection against a tragic accident, but it gave her comfort to know that her still grieving son was just a short drive away if he needed anything.
When Andy died, our foster son, Valeriano, had just finished high school. His case worker had been helping him look for apartments to move out. After Andy died, the worker continued to look for housing for Valeriano, but we could tell that Valeriano's heart was no longer in it. He had been forced to leave his biological family in Guatemala and now, his safe, happy family in the US was being torn apart as well.
I remember telling that case worker to stop. Valeriano was a part of our family and needed to stay in our home. I am sure that Elizabeth had people telling her to let her son move alone, but she knew what her grieving family needed. They needed to be close together. Even though her son rarely had to visit his parents, it was comforting to know that he could.
I am so proud that Elizabeth was brave enough to make this decision for herself and her family. She didn't think about what society expected her to do; she did what they needed. What an amazing example for us all.
To learn more, read her Huffington Post article here or follow her blog on her substack, Channeling Grief.
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After Chana lost her oldest son Ryan to a drug overdose five years ago, she was understandably devastated. Still, bit by bit over time, she started to feel like her family may be on its way to recovery. Her second oldest son, Chris, had been crushed when he lost his older brother and best friend. He struggled with relationships and work after losing Ryan. Chris even moved back home to get more support from his family. Then, 395 days after losing Ryan and just as things seemed to be improving, Chris suddenly died as well.
As bad as Chana thought life could get, it was now worse. Two of her four children were dead. Chana said, "I didn't think I was ever going to be able to get out of bed and open my eyes without crying." There was a huge hole in her heart and there were times that Chana thought about ending her own life - but she didn't. She kept getting up each morning and functioning despite having tears in her eyes each morning.
Over time, however, the tears weren't on her pillow every day. The grief did not feel quite as heavy. There were times when she began to laugh and smile again. Chana remembers when she first started to laugh again, she used to want to punish herself thinking that she did not deserve to smile, Chana shares that after a long time and a lot of tears, she realized that she does deserve to smile. She deserves to have moments of happiness again.
As you listen today, you will hear me talk about Chana's smile. You will hear me say that every single time Chana brings up Chris's name, her face begins to light up with a smile. That should bring all of us so much hope for the future. Early in my grief, every time I said Andy's name, tears would well up in my eyes and my lips would quiver slightly. ever so slowly, that has changed for me as well. Often when talking about my dear, sweet Andy, a big smile will come across my face. In fact, as I write this, I find myself smiling and thinking of Andy's smile as well. That is my hope for all of you today that smiles may begin to poke through your tears.
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In the last minutes of this week's interview, today's guest, Ellie, wanted to share one last thing with listeners as she looked back on her 25-year journey of grief after losing her two young children. She compared grief to the ocean. She said that sometimes, the ocean is clear and calm and beautiful while at other times storms come and it feels tumultuous. I find this an incredibly fitting comparison as I sit here writing this while a catastrophic hurricane, Hurricane Milton, is landing in Florida.
At this time yesterday, the ocean likely looked beautiful and inviting along Florida's beaches while today it is destroying property and lives. That is the same feeling that we get in our grief. Sometimes, life seems relatively calm, but at other times, our grief feels like it has shredded us completely. We think we will never be able to recover. We feel like the devastation is complete and that there is no hope.
Twenty-five years ago, Ellie lost her two young children, Alex and Adri, in an explosion and fire. Ellie says that in some ways, this 25th year has been the worst, not because life is harder for her now than it was all those years ago, but because she had expectations that she would feel 'better' by now. When Ellie and her husband lost their only two children, I imagine that the grief felt like Hurricane Milton. It was huge and overpowering, and it felt like their entire world had been destroyed and no good could ever enter their lives again.
We know, however, that hurricanes don't last forever. In mere days, Hurricane Milton will leave Florida, but as the ocean calms, damage will still be evident. If you look closely, scars will be evident for years, possibly even decades. This, too is the case for Ellie. From the outside, her family looks complete with her husband and four children. Many people do not know that there should be six and that the two oldest are forever missing. Ellie still notices the scars and feels the daily pain of her missing children. Some days, the grief feels like soft lapping waves on the beach, but at other times, she can still feel the hurricane force winds.
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After the death of your child, everything becomes more challenging. Previously easy tasks like going to the grocery store suddenly seem almost impossible. Getting out of bed and showering in the morning no longer feels automatic. You may wonder how you will be able to get through the next weeks, months, and years without your child.
In today's podcast, Gwen and I sit down to talk about ways to try to find a little purpose to get out of bed and live each day. Having other family members to love and support can give us motivation to keep living, but sometimes that is not quite enough. Sometimes finding activities that give us a little peace or comfort can help us as well. Other times, it may be an activity that simply occupies our minds for a bit so we can take a little break from the overwhelming weight of grief.
When I think about what has gotten me through these past six years, so many things come to mind. First and foremost are other people who have given me amazing support. Certainly for me, talking to other bereaved parents, whether through the podcast or in support groups has been life-changing. The idea of helping and accepting help from other grieving parents has helped bring a little bit of purpose back to my life and on those tough days, it is these other parents who are best at offering me comfort.
However, there are times when I have to escape from the grief for a few minutes or a few hours. At those times, sitting out on my deck listening to the birds sing or playing a round of golf can help take some of the stress away. Sometimes, things that brought comfort years ago can do so again. I used to love reading fiction books as a kid but found myself too busy to do so as an adult. For the past couple of years, I have found that reading allows me to escape and put myself in a different world where the pain does not feel so sharp.
Overall, everyone has different support systems and actions that bring them peace. I hope that this episode helps motivate all of you to find the people or activities that can help bring you a sense of comfort and put a little purpose back into your lives.
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Today's guest, Marj, always wanted her daughter, Chloe, to be a normal kid. When Marj and her husband first adopted Chloe, she already had medical concerns, but at 20 months of age, their lives were turned upside down when Chloe was diagnosed with cancer. Chloe lived the next 14 years of her life with cancer, but Marj continued to try to make her life as normal as possible.
When Chloe's parents sent her to summer camp for kids with cancer (now called Campfire Circle), Marj and Chloe took a flight to where Chloe would be able to get on a bus for camp. As a kid, Marj had loved going to summer camp and she new that Chloe would love the experience as well - if they could get her to go. The night before she was to get on the bus, Chloe called her dad and said, 'I don't think Mommy loves me anymore. I think she is trying to get rid of me. She's sending me to this camp and I don't want to go, Daddy.' She was almost frantic with worry, but somehow, Marj convinced her to get on the bus that morning.
When Marj came to pick her up two weeks later, Chloe's expression was one of pure joy. She shared that camp had 'changed her life.' At camp, she was a regular kid. She didn't have to explain herself to anyone. At camp, being in a wheelchair or needing an oxygen tank didn't make a kid feel like an outsider. These things were completely normal. If Chloe didn't feel like eating, she didn't have to eat. When other kids were swimming and Chloe felt like she wanted to stay in the boat and take pictures, she stayed in the boat and took pictures.
After those first 2 weeks at camp, Chloe went each year until the camp had to be closed for COVID. Marj says that those weeks were magical for Chloe. Since Chloe's death, Marj has struggled to find purpose in her life again. Finding a reason to get out of bed can be a challenge. Marj wondered what it would be like to visit Chloe's magical camp so she went to volunteer. Marj said that she felt Chloe at the camp and could see why she loved it so much. Marj hopes that moving forward, it can be a place for her to go to feel Chloe’s presence and a bit of camp magic each summer as well.
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Losing a child affects us in ways that we never possibly could have imagined. We are quite honestly not the same people who we were before experiencing this profound loss. When today's guest, Lisa, lost her 19-year-old amazing, talented daughter, Kate, to a rare, aggressive cancer a few months ago, she truly felt lost. She said that she lost confidence in herself. She felt like she couldn't do anything even to the point that she started feeling like a bad cook and a bad driver.
The guilt and all of the 'what ifs' became consuming for Lisa. She found herself focusing on many past decisions. What if they had taken her daughter's ovary the first time when she had a simple benign cyst? What if they had gone to a different doctor? What if they had done surgeries at different times? Would her daughter still be alive today?
These 'what if' questions haunt so many of us, don't they? They plagued me throughout my grief just as they affect Lisa today. How do we learn to let go of those doubts and questions? There are no easy answers. Others tell us again and again that we did the best we could do and that there is nothing we could have done differently, but learning to accept and believe in ourselves is much more difficult.
I learned from Gwen many years ago that feelings don't have to be rational to be real. And these feelings, as irrational as they may be, are important to acknowledge. Only by experiencing all of our emotions can we truly begin to heal. We need to slowly and gently go through our irrational feelings and challenge them ourselves. Therapists and support groups can help us along our journey as well.
Through hard work and perseverance grieving parents can and do heal. I have seen it in myself and so many others through these past six years. I can tell a funny story about Andy now without overflowing tears. The grief is still there, certainly, but it is no longer all-consuming and I experience more moments of peace. I know, too, that someday when Lisa thinks about Kate, the first thing that will come to her mind will be her amazing smile and personality and not the doubts that flood her mind today.
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When Justin Cole started on his peewee football team many years ago, each practice started and ended with a chant. Part of that chant included these words - Never Give Up. As the years went by, the boys eventually stopped playing peewee football, but the friendships continued and the 'never give up' mantra remained important. When Cole suddenly died at 22 years of age in a car accident, many of his former teammates who were planning to be groomsmen at Cole's wedding in 55 days instead became his pallbearers.
In the first days after Cole's death, his mother Wendy wondered how she would even be able to live a week without her beloved Cole. Her world was forever broken, never to be the same again, but somehow, she did live a week, and then a month. Hope seemed impossible and giving up did not seem like an unreasonable option. Time kept going on, however, whether she wanted it to or not. Finding no grief support locally in her area of Fort Worth, Texas, she turned to social media. She and her husband signed up to take a David Kessler course on grief. That course gave her the first glimmers of hope that she had seen in 2 months.
Through social media, Wendy realized that they were not alone. She found other grieving moms on Facebook in many different groups with many different stories. (Four of them actually had sons named Justin Cole!) She arranged in-person meetings between a few who lived locally and then decided to start her own Facebook group to try to help other bereaved parents. Wendy knew that hope was the key to healing after the devastation of child loss. Parents need to find hope, and Wendy wanted her group to offer that hope to parents everywhere. She named her group 'Never Give Up Hope' in honor of that peewee football team. In just a few short months, the group has grown to 56 moms across North America. They host Zoom meetings on Tuesday nights for members as well with education and discussions on grief. Wendy hopes that in her own little way, she can help encourage parents everywhere to never give up hope.
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Before our children are even born, we have dreams for them. We think of what they will be like as babies and the personalities they will develop as they grow. These dreams only get more real after they are born. Clara's dad, Joe, says that as he sang to Clara as a baby, he imagined what it would be like to dance with her as a little girl and even watch her get ready for her prom. It is truly one of the joys of parenthood - imagining a blissful, happy future.
When today's guests, Jenna and Joe, went to Jenna's 28-week ultrasound, however, they got their first 'kick in the gut' that the blissful future they were imagining might not be possible. Baby Clara was suffering from SVT (supra ventricular tachycardia), and Jenna needed to be hospitalized immediately. They tried numerous medications, but little Clara entered into the world as a premature infant. Clara had numerous complications in her first 5 1/2 months of life, but eventually, they were able to bring her home, although still with a central line for her IV nutrition.
Despite all of these hurdles, Jenna describes this time at home as 'amazing.' They started to dream again, hoping that Clara would be able to lead a relatively full life. That all changed 5 1/2 months later (10 1/2 weeks before this interview was recorded when after a relatively routine medical procedure, Clara suddenly died on Mother's Day - Jenna's first Mother's Day. Jenna had looked forward to this day for weeks, telling all her friends how happy she was that she wouldn't be in the hospital as had been the case the year before when she was still pregnant with Clara, but the day had turned into a nightmare.
Their vibrant, happy amazing little girl was suddenly gone, and with her, all of the new little family's dreams went with her. Now, Jenna and Joe are slowly trying to put together the pieces of their life once again. They are moving to be closer to family and trying to find grief support in any way they can. Now their biggest dream for their little smiling Clara is to make sure that they are not the only ones who remember her and let others know that Clara is still a part of their lives.
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I cannot quite believe I have been doing the Always Andy's Mom podcast for 5 years. As of today, there have been well over 250,000 downloads in 128 countries as we share stories from around the world. This week, we went back to talk to guests who have been with us from the beginning and others who joined us along the way.
Accompanying Gwen and I for this episode are Stephanie (Ep. 3: Keyan's Mom), Chrisy (Ep. 19: Caleb's Mom), Nan (Ep. 23: Connor's Mom), and Demetra (Ep. 92: Eleni's Mom). If you have not heard these moms before or want to remind yourself of their stories, click on the links, but even if you are new to the podcast and have never listened before, you will find so much hope and healing by listening.
Each of these amazing moms talks about how they struggled when they were first recorded. In Chrisy's case, she was only 148 days into her grief journey so it is understandable that she would be in the depths of her pain. On the other hand, Nan lost her Connor 11 years before recording her episode. At the time, I found myself longing to have her strength. Little did I know, however, that inwardly, Nan was struggling and only one month later, found herself hitting rock bottom at the lowest point in her grief.
As I listened to each woman share years after I first met them, I saw so much growth. I found myself smiling as Stephanie found purpose again by dedicating her life to helping bereaved people through Starlight Ministries. As I smiled, however, tears also came as they so often do. Grief is hard. Grief is messy. Growth can come as months and years go by, but it is not a linear path. It is a path filled with many dark valleys and helping each other through the dark times is key.
As I think back over these past 5 years, I feel so incredibly blessed that God has allowed me to meet hundreds of bereaved people from varied backgrounds from all over the world. I have become a part of their grief journey and they have become a part of mine. I cannot wait to see who will enter my life over the next 5 years. Thank you all.
*To sign up for the next Starlight virtual support groups that I lead starting September 10th, email [email protected]. Visit starlightmin.org for more information
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If you listened to last week's podcast, you heard a little bit about what goes on behind the scenes. For example, each week, one to two days before release, I listen to that week's full podcast and try to find an overriding theme I want to focus on for the write-up. This week was no different. but as I listened, I found myself hearing different themes.
The first idea was to focus on Remi’s amazing personality and how she impacted those around her - even those who knew her only in the hospital. The second theme revolved around the idea that Remi's mom, Courtney, felt like Remi's death affected her confidence in her ability to parent and her outlook on life in general. As I found myself debating the pros and cons of each of these ideas, it hit me - these ideas come from the same place. They all stem from how different experiences cause us to change and evolve as people.
When the ICU team cared for Remi in the hospital for 37 days after her drowning, they grew to love Remi and were forever changed. They never got to hear her speak or see her run and play, but they were impacted nonetheless, As Courtney held her young daughter as she died, she turned to the doctor who sat rubbing her back and told the doctor that she didn't have to be there with them. The doctor responded, 'I'm exactly where I need to be.'
The experience of losing Remi affected Courtney deeply as well. In many ways, these changes are negative, but there are a few positive ones as well. Before Remi died, Courtney felt confident in her decisions as a parent. She knew that she was a good mom who cared for her children well. Losing Remi changed all of this. Doubts came constantly. Is she a good mom? Can she keep her children safe? Those on the outside still see the great, amazing mom Courtney has always been, but inwardly, she feels that she is lacking. As much as these doubts haunt Courtney, however, she does value life in a way she could not before. Courtney says, ‘We are not promised tomorrow so we should love hard today.'
So to all of you today, the message to you is this - love hard and offer care and support to all who are hurting.
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This week is one that I have been dreading for a while now. Every year, as the calendar turns to August, I feel my dread and anxiety go up and with that an increase in headaches and other physical symptoms as August 15th comes closer. Last year was especially bad as it was the 5 year anniversary of Andy's death. I thought this year would be better until I learned that we would have to drop our youngest son Peter off at college on August 13th.
I know that most mothers have feelings of worry and sadness when their youngest child moves out of the house. For me, the feelings of worry exploded to a whole new level. I fear that as I drop him off at college, some tragic accident will occur and I will never see him again. I know that this is irrational and that most college students do not die when they go to college, but over the years, I have met many mothers whose children have died and that makes it more real.
In two weeks, the podcast celebrates its 5th birthday. Five years of telling amazing stories of amazing children, but they are also hard stories. They are emotional stories of tragic accidents and prolonged illnesses. Tears often flow as we relive those final minutes or days of our child's life or the moment we heard that the unimaginable has happened. As hard as these stories are, however, they are also stories of hope and resilience. They are stories of parents who continue to get up every day after horrific tragedy. They are stories that bind us together as a community of grieving parents.
As I look back on these past 5 years, I am proud of the stories we have helped tell and proud of the community we have created. As difficult as this week is for me and as real as my fears are, I know that so many of you are just a text or an email away. Six years ago, I felt very alone in my grief. I had my family and close friends, but when I looked into the world, I saw only happy, whole families. Today, as I wake up on August 15th, I feel quite different. Although I know far more stories of tragedy, I feel the strength and support of broken parents from around the globe. I know that with your help, I will get through.
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"I don't know how you do it."
I have heard this phrase on and off in my life, but that was nothing compared to how often I have heard those words since Andy died. I know people mean well when they say, "I don't know how you do it," but I never really know how to respond. I don't feel any stronger or more resilient than anyone else. Quite the opposite is the case actually. I often feel weak and alone.
Today's guest, Jessica, heard "I don't know how you do it" for many years as well. It started shortly after her 5-year-old daughter, Dalia, was diagnosed with MERRF syndrome, a degenerative mitochondrial disease. Over the years as other parents watched their children gain milestones, Jessica and her family watched Dalia lose hers - first, her ability to walk and speak and then the ability to eat on her own. Eventually, Dalia even lost her sweet smile.
At the time of Dalia's death, her bedroom looked more like an ICU room than the bedroom of a teenage girl, but until Dalia died, Jessica didn't notice any of that. She just focused on being a loving mom to her sweet daughter. 'I don't know how you do it?' Really? It was just normal life for her. There was nothing heroic or extraordinary happening. Jessica just did what she had to do, living every day with her family hoping to give them all the best life possible.
Jessica at some point decided to write a book about her experiences raising and losing Dalia while also suffering through the deaths of both of her parents and sisters. The result of this effort was 'Breath Taking: A Memoir of Family, Dreams, and Broken Genes' available here on Amazon. She also began to think about the phrase 'I don't know how you do it' more deeply. How does anyone 'do it' actually? Jessica decided to start her podcast which she aptly named, 'I Don't Know How You Do It' to explore the question more deeply. Each week, she interviews someone whose life seems unimaginable from the outside. Through the podcast, Jessica hopes to show listeners that there isn't a magic answer. We can all do it, no matter what our circumstances. Each day, we all get out of bed and do it and so can you.
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Communication is such an important part of the human experience. We all come from different backgrounds and with different experiences, but being able to communicate with each other and share our own perspectives brings us closer together. When Chezik's 3-year-old son, Yori, drowned in a backyard pool, she was unexpectedly thrust into a completely new world and forced to learn a new language. This was the language of grief.
Over the next year, Chezik was drawn to other grieving families, especially those who had lost children to drowning. She felt very strongly that she needed to do something to try to decrease the number of drowning victims which is the #1 cause of death in young children. Since Chezik had a background in film production, she knew that the best way for her to get the message out would be through film.
What resulted is a simply beautiful documentary called 'Drowning in Silence' (available to watch on Amazon Prime or free on Tubi). In the film, Chezik shares Yori's story as well as the stories of other children who were drowning victims. Through these stories of amazing young children, she calls for action for all of us to do our part in decreasing the number of drowning victims. These actions include having an adult as a designated 'water watcher' (much like a designated driver), encouraging all young children to wear life jackets within 100 feet of water, and even working to provide swimming lessons for young children free of charge. In addition to making this powerful film, Chezik also started a nonprofit organization (nomoreunder.org) to help with education and provide free swim lessons to children, especially those of black and brown communities who are at higher risk of drowning.
Chezik's call to action profoundly affected me. Watching her film not only changed the way I think about drowning on a personal level, it changed me as a pediatrician as well. No matter how much information I feel like I need to give parents during a well-child visit, I will never again neglect to remind parents of the risks of drowning and provide information to help protect children as much as possible.
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I have thought a lot recently about blame in the context of grief. When a child dies, it is natural for feelings of blame to emerge. Whether we blame ourselves, blame our child, blame another person, or even put the blame on God, there is a lot of it to go around. Additionally, others can be very vocal about where they feel the blame should be placed when our child dies. This is often done through social media when people do not think at all about the feelings of others before throwing out hurtful comments. Initially, after our accident, It felt important to place the blame somewhere. In some ways, the blame was actually useful to me. I could put on boxing gloves and hit a punching bag imagining I was damaging the car that hit us. It was a release for my anger and other scary emotions. In other ways, however, blame was my enemy from the beginning. I blamed myself for all of us being in the car at that moment. I imagined scenario after scenario where I had done one thing differently that would have saved Andy. Eventually, however, I came to realize that no matter whether I blamed another person or myself, blame had become a poison. While drinking that poison every day, I was not able to begin healing. For me, the cure to the poison of blame was forgiveness. Forgiveness allowed true healing to begin and helped me feel more like myself. I was able to let go of the bitterness and anger that accompanied the blame. I have heard from others and remember thinking to myself that if I reached a point of forgiveness, that would mean that I was somehow OK with Andy dying. Let me be perfectly clear. I am NOT OK with Andy's death. I will miss Andy every day for the rest of my life. When I think about his life getting cut short I feel tremendous sadness and even some anger, but I no longer let the need for blame consume my life. That is the difference between who I was five years ago and who I am today. I hope that in their own time and way, every bereaved parent will be able to let go of the poison of blame.
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From the first email I received concerning Gwyneth and her son, Laird, I was struck with how important friendship was in Gwyneth's life. You see, Gwyneth was not the one who first wrote to me about her story. It was her dear friend, Caroline. Caroline wrote that Laird had been her son's best friend and that she had promised to do whatever she could to help her in her grief journey and her quest to 'sound the alarms about the fentanyl epidemic.'
From the first moments of my conversation with Gwyneth, the theme of friendship overwhelmed every part of our discussion. As she introduced me to Laird, I was struck by what a good friend he was to all around him. Classmate after classmate approached Gwyneth after Laird's death telling her that he/she was Laird's best friend. She heard multiple stories of Laird sticking up for classmates if others were picking on them. He was truly an amazing young man.
After Laird died from fentanyl poisoning, Gwyneth focused on friendships to help her get through. Friends didn't just ask her if she needed anything, they brought her groceries and made her meals. They stayed at her side through all of the dark times. Shortly after Laird's death, Gwyneth and her family began participating in KinderMourn, an organization based out of Charlotte, North Carolina, offering support groups for bereaved children and their parents. This group has truly been a lifeline for Gwyneth. I could hear her voice sound a little stronger when talking about what she has learned in her support group. The friendship those other bereaved parents give her has been incredibly precious to her. I don't think she knows how she would have made it through the last year without them.
Even after all of this, Gwyneth had one last 'friend' to talk about. This 'friend' is grief itself. We often think that grief is something to fight against, but Gwyneth reminds us that we should really treat grief as a friend. Grief will be a part of life until the day we die. It will be our companion through times of sorrow as well as times of joy. We need to hold it close as we would a dear friend.
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From the first email I received concerning Gwyneth and her son, Laird, I was struck with how important friendship was in Gwyneth's life. You see, Gwyneth was not the one who first wrote to me about her story. It was her dear friend, Caroline. Caroline wrote that Laird had been her son's best friend and that she had promised to do whatever she could to help her in her grief journey and her quest to 'sound the alarms about the fentanyl epidemic.'
From the first moments of my conversation with Gwyneth, the theme of friendship overwhelmed every part of our discussion. As she introduced me to Laird, I was struck by what a good friend he was to all around him. Classmate after classmate approached Gwyneth after Laird's death telling her that he/she was Laird's best friend. She heard multiple stories of Laird sticking up for classmates if others were picking on them. He was truly an amazing young man.
After Laird died from fentanyl poisoning, Gwyneth focused on friendships to help her get through. Friends didn't just ask her if she needed anything, they brought her groceries and made her meals. They stayed at her side through all of the dark times. Shortly after Laird's death, Gwyneth and her family began participating in KinderMourn, an organization based out of Charlotte, North Carolina, offering support groups for bereaved children and their parents. This group has truly been a lifeline for Gwyneth. I could hear her voice sound a little stronger when talking about what she has learned in her support group. The friendship those other bereaved parents give her has been incredibly precious to her. I don't think she knows how she would have made it through the last year without them.
Even after all of this, Gwyneth had one last 'friend' to talk about. This 'friend' is grief itself. We often think that grief is something to fight against, but Gwyneth reminds us that we should really treat grief as a friend. Grief will be a part of life until the day we die. It will be our companion through times of sorrow as well as times of joy. We need to hold it close as we would a dear friend.
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As Candi sat in the ER after losing her 5-year-old son, Asher, tragically in a farming accident, she wondered how life could go on. The pain was just too great. Candi had seen a therapist for years and knew that her therapist was also a bereaved mom. Candi asked her sister to ask the therapist what she was supposed to do. She answered, "You circle your wagons, and just hang on." Honestly, in the 6 years since losing Andy, this may be the best piece of advice I have ever heard. I love the visual that it brings to mind. For listeners who may not be familiar with the saying, 'circling the wagons' was done as wagon trains headed west. Each night, when the travelers stopped for the night, they formed a large circle made up of their wagons. They would keep the camp and their livestock inside this circle. This way they could keep the most vulnerable inside, protected from bandits, wild animals, and even stormy weather. Candi's family and friends were great at circling the wagons. Candi says she felt like a ghost for the first whole year, but somehow, her family remained fed and her other 5 kids continued to participate in school and activities. The circle cared for her when she could not. Over the past 3 years, Candi's wagon train has changed. As she became involved in my online support group through Starlight Ministries and met other bereaved moms, they joined her wagon train to be her support. Candi says that she was a sponge, reading book after book on child loss. Recently, she started a bereaved moms group in her own rural community in Utah as well. I would say that instead of being the protected one at the center of the circle of wagons, Candi is working to transform herself into a wagon master. Recently, Candi's extended family suffered tragedy again when her sister lost her own daughter in a car accident. Candi felt helpless knowing there was nothing she could say to make her sister feel better, but Candi knew exactly what to do. She instructed that wagon train to circle up again, and she now sits with her sister in the dark, scary place holding her while they both just hang on.
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"Thank you, Momma."
These were the last words that Holly's daughter, Brittany, spoke before slipping into unconsciousness and eventually passing away. Holly clings to these words, even now, almost three years after Brittany's death. For 20 years, Holly had been at Brittany's side through her long, complex medical journey, never even spending 24 hours away from her.
However, Holly questioned herself despite her diligence as Brittany's primary caregiver. First, she questioned the decisions that she made when treating Brittany. Did she make her do too much? Could she have eased her pain and suffering? In Brittany's last days, Holly's questions changed. Did she allow Brittany to 'give up' too early? Is there more that she should have done?
Throughout Brittany's life, she faced many battles. First of all, Brittany was a brilliant young woman with autism. Her mind functioned at a level that blew her mother and others away. In addition to her autism, however, Brittany struggled with a yet unnamed disease that battled her organs throughout her life. After a life-saving surgery in her teens, Brittany began to write a book about her journey meant to help other children suffering from life-threatening illnesses.
After completing the book, Holly and Brittany decided to table the book until her 21st birthday. At that time, Brittany planned to write more of her story and complete the book. Unfortunately, it became clear in the end that Brittany would not be able to finish the book. She asked her mother to complete it for her. Holly honored Brittany by finalizing the book she titled, 'Well, Actually .... Thank you, Momma' (available on Amazon or their website, wellactuallythankyoumomma.com).
Despite Holly's doubts, Brittany's own words tell the final story. Holly did everything she could to give Brittany the best life she could. That's what we all hope for, isn't it? We work to do everything that we can for our children. And even though most of our children don't say 'thank you, momma' in their last moments with us, we hope and pray that they are thinking these words as we part.
- Vis mere
