Coping With the Loss of a Child
May 21, 2008 by The Grief Blog
Filed under Blog, Dealing with Grief, Death and Dying, Death of a Child, Q&A
The death of a child is always a dreadful thing. The effect of a child’s death is often felt very widely and can have an impact on many people including the extended family, school friends and their families and teachers. Working through your grief can be a poignant process, but it is essential to ensure your future emotional and physical well-being. Parental grieving for the loss of a baby involves acute emotional suffering and has implications for the quality of the relationship shared by the bereaved parents. A relationship may be exposed to risk during the mourning process. The distinct forms of mourning between the couple creates barriers to good communication and increases feelings of vulnerability. There are not only gender differences in dealing with such situations, but also differences between women depending on the type of loss experienced. Men tend to worry, use social support and neglect the situation, women are more likely to seek spiritual support, use tension reduction, desirous thinking and seek support from others who have experienced the same loss.
The mourning process takes time and should not be hurried. How long it takes to cope up with the grief varies individually. In general, though, it takes most people one to two years to recover from a major bereavement. There are many ways in which, you can help yourself cope during this time.
* Ask for assistance and support from family, friends or a support group, and try to express whatever you are feeling, be it anger, guilt or sorrow.
* Acceptance of the fact that some things, like death, are beyond your control can help you get through the grief.
* Giving yourself the time and space to grieve is an important factor within the coping process. Due to which you are able to mourn properly and avoid problems in the future.
* Friends can be an important source of help and consolation at this time.
* If you are facing problems during sleep, your doctor may be able to prescribe tablets that can aid or refer you to a counselor if you feel that you need more help in coping with the loss.
When a child passes away it’s not something you ever get over, or forget. A parent deals with the trauma every single day of his life. Parents may feel that they can never recover amply from the loss of a child. For some parents the new identity is a stronger one, they feel they have been “through the fire” and that nothing can affect them so deeply again. Exact information, delivered with skill and sympathy and updated on a regular basis, diminishes the parents’ sense of helplessness and isolation and sets up a therapeutic alliance.
Linda Torrey - runs a non profit grief and bereavement website -
Linda Angel Bereavement & Grief Support Center - http://www.linda-angel.com
This web site’s sole aim is to provide free information to those in need. The website provides articles, resources, advise, forums & a free book.
Download a free copy of our book Linda Angel - A story of grief recovery and spiritual healing.
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Linda_Torrey http://EzineArticles.com/?Coping-With-the-Loss-of-a-Child&id=611112
The Power of Forgiveness
April 27, 2008 by Carol O'Dell
Filed under Carol O'Dell, Death and Dying, Hospice
One of the practices hospice recommends is to ask your loved one’s fforgiveness–and to offer yours.
I’ve been thinking about this all day. The importance, or power of forgiveness and how it might keep us here on earth, lingering. Everything hospice does is to make passing easy, comfortable, and to give a sense of closure to everyone.
And here’s this forgiveness“issue” needing to be addressed, perhaps for the first time in many family member’s lives–and for others, it’s a reassurance, a final healing of many healings we all must go through in life.
Isn’t it amazing that a lack of forgiveness can hold you to this world when your spirit is ready to leave?
It doesn’t even matter if your loved one is in a coma, or if they have cancer and are on morphine, or if they have Alzheimer’s or some other neurological disorder that may make you feel that they are beyond understanding. They’re not. You’re not. I believe that forgiveness, and the ability to give and receive forgiveness is at a cellular level. What we think, dwell on, harbor, hold on to, refuse to let go of–it has to go somewhere. It enters our muscles, or bones, or organs, and permeates all that we are.
I’m not implying that those who linger on and on, for whatever reason have “unforgiveness.” I’m not saying that at all.
Sometimes the hurts we harbor are from blantant acts of cruelty while others bubbled from years of silent sorrows. Either are weights to our souls.
What’s it mean to forgive–and be forgiven?
I was brought up in a Christian based household, and unfortuately, some interpretations of the Bible have us tangled in sin and shame. We create a trap we can’t seem to find our way out of. Not all faiths do this, not all families or churches do this, but I know that it took me some time to realize God doesn’t need to do the forgiving, we do.
God’s forgiveness of humanity, of each individual’s life is limitless, and easy. He’s not into grudges, resentments, and guilt. We are. Unfortunately. We’re the ones that have to “work at” forgiveness.
“Forgiveness means being able to finally say, ‘thank you for giving me the insights I’ve gained from this experience.’”
I heard this from one of the founders of the book, The Secret, and no matter how you feel about that subject, this quote turned things upside down for me–in a good way.
That hit me in my gut. I thought of rape victims, family members of murder victims, family members of people who have overdosed or committed suicide, of all the lives taken by war and disease…and yet all of us, all of us must eventually come to our own end, to a place of giving and receiving forgiveness.
No matter what has been done to us.
No matter what we have done.
We will all be there, in our final days and minutes of passing–and forgiveness stands guard of the gate.
***
I can only speak of my own life here. My own hurts. I’ve had some. And it took a long, long time to come to this place. I’m not necessarily grateful for the experience, but I am grateful for what I’ve learned. My deepest hurts and shames, both of my own doing and that done to me, what I’ve learned has been a greater tenderness for life, a few stones of wisdom to carry in my pocket, and the ability (occasionally) to discern what’s really important.
This is what I’ve learned. What I’ve gleaned from a few very dark nights.
***
I can’t begin to postulate as to how to do this, or when, and I’m not going to lecture anyone here. If you’re reading this post, maybe it’s for a reason. You’ll know when you need to look at something again. You’ll know–life has a way of revealing what it is we’re supposed to deal with, examine.
It’s okay if it isn’t right now. If the wound is fresh, then most likely, no. You’ll have time. This isn’t something to fix or check off a list. Forgiveness is rarely instantaneous, and it can’t be forced.
Again, for me, I get lots of “passes at” forgiveness. I’m usually a last minute packer, but this is one area, I hope not to leave to last minute.
It’s like circling a mountain. Each time I find myself at the same location, looking at the same old issue, but sometimes, my elevation is a bit higher. I do a little heart work, see it from a different perspective, and then I keep walking–knowing that I’ll circle the mountain again, and I’ll have a new opportunity. Until then, I need to just live.
***
If you or your loved one is at this last juncture, and this question is one that needs to be addressed, know that this isn’t your last time. Heart work, healing work continues. Two bodies don’t have to be on earth to continue learning and forgiving.
But take this moment, say the words, “I forgive you. Will you forgive me?”
Whether it comes out just like that–or in some other form, words or no words, allow the power of forgiveness to change you.
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
available on Amazon and in most bookstores
Forgivess quotes:
Forgiveness is the giving, and the receiving, of life. George MacDonald
Forgivess is the frangrance the violet gives when the heal has crushed it. Mark Twain
Forgivness is the final form of love. Reinhold Niebuhr
I Can’t Take It …
April 23, 2008 by The Grief Blog
Filed under Blog, Dealing with Grief, Death and Dying, Death of a Child, Q&A
Alzheimer’s Hits TV on Boston Legal: Will They Do a Good Job?
April 22, 2008 by Carol O'Dell
Filed under Carol O'Dell, Death and Dying, Featured Articles, Hospice, Palliative Care
Boston Legal has a new storyline. Denny, played by William Shatner, has Alzheimer’s.
What’s great is that Denny is and always has been a bigger-than-life character who says and does outrageous things, is and was a shameless but rather harmless womanizer, and while he’s irritating and embarrassing, he’s brillant as a lawyer, and endearing.
Sounds like many people I know who also have Alzheimer’s.
Alzheimer’s is the great equalizer. I was recently talking to a support group, and one woman’s husband had been a construction worker all his life, and another woman’s husband was a lawyer and taught at Yale. Both had Alzheimer’s, and the women sat next to each other sharing comfort and support. It didn’t matter “who” they were or what they did. On that day, what mattered was a strength, love, and committment their family members gave that kept them going.
Alzheimer’s may alter a person’s personality, but the true sorrow comes when it obliterates it.
This usually happens toward the end stage of this disease, in stage six or seven, in years three to eight, depending on the person’s age and other complications.
As frustrating, scary, and utterly exhausting Alzheimer’s is, the real sorrow comes when your loved one is truly lost–lost to movement, thought, and emotion. Then, you long for the cantankerous days, the fights, the chaos because that’s when they were ironically, alive.
Denny Crane is played flawlessly by William Shatner, and his Alzheimer’s was not addressed at first. You simply knew what he said or did was…off. I have to admit, I thought of it, but I have experience. He’s young, in his sixties. Less than 10% of the people who get Alzheimer’s get it that young, and the numbers increase with age. Those above 85 years old have a 50% chance.
Denny’s quirkiness covered his dementia.
Are you blaming quirkiness, fussiness, meanness instead of looking at an underlying problem/issue?
Then, Denny was diagnosed, and they had several episodes of dealing with this as a law office, as co-workers, as lovers, and as friends. Last week’s episode dealt with Shirley Schmidt’s father (she’s played by Candice Bergen) who was hospitalized and sufferiing with the last stages of this horrendous disease.
Shirley asked for a morphine drip. That’s usually considered palliative care and is used by regularly by hospitals and hospice and is reserved for diseases such as cancer that usually have a lot of pain. Alzheimer’s isn’t known for its physical pain. The nurses and doctors knew her reasoning.
Morphine drips are also used to allow a person to die. The dosage is increased, and the person simply drifts out. It’s considered humane for someone who is suffering.
The doctor’s refused. I’m not surprised. Candice got a court order. She had to tell Denny he couldn’t argue the case. His best friend, Alan Shore, played by James Spader argued the case.
Is physical pain the only kind of pain there is? Is it any less ethical to give morpheme to a person with Alzheimer’s who can no longer eat, communicate, or swallow on their own?
Alan became quite empassioned. He couldn’t help it. He related it to Denny, to his best friend, and in many ways, you could see he was grieving what will come. What would he do if it was Denny? At the end of the closing, he told the court that his best friend had early stage Alzheimer’s, and that he had already vowed that no matter how hard it would be, he would find a way for his friend to leave this world with dignity.
They won the case. Shirley’s father was allowed to pass quietly and peacefully with his daughter by his side.
The last scene of Boston Legal always takes place on a penthouse patio overlooking the city. Denny and are smoking cigars and drinking scotch and pondering life. Two best friends who may eventually become caregiver and care receiver.
Denny tells Alan that he heard his closing arguement, and then, like a couple of ten year-olds, he asks if his best friend would like to spend the night.
***
I’m not trying to get into the ethical debate of euthanasia, mercy killing, or anything else you want to call it.
What I wish to say is that Alzheimer’s is no longer a disease that’s mentioned in whispers.
It’s rippling ( or ripping) into our homes, our communities, our movies with such recent hits as Oscar nominated Away From Her, and now it’s making television.
What Boston Legal is doing right is that they’re not in a hurry with the storyline and so far, they haven’t written off this complex and entertainig character.
They had 9.29 million viewers last week.
They’re showing the progression of Alzheimer’s to 9.29 million viewers.
This may not be their only agenda, but they’re a messanger. all the same.
They’re portraying a character you already love, and love to hate, and now, after years of this crazy, quirky, shock-talking guy you care about whether you want to or not, and he hapens to have Alzheimer’s.
He’s your Uncle Joe, and this hits you in the gut. If he can get it…
As Alzheimer’s increases, I hope the media follows producer’s David E. Kelley’s lead and creates intelligent, vibrant discussions iand storylines in which Alzheimer’s is a part of–something we can learn, talk about, laugh about..and even cry.
Family Advisor at www.caring.com
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
available on Amazon and in most bookstores
The Four Cycles of Caregiving: Where Are You?
April 18, 2008 by Carol O'Dell
Filed under Carol O'Dell, Death and Dying, Hospice, Palliative Care
Statistics show that people spend about 4.5 years caregiving.
The average person with Alzheimer’s lives 5-8 years. That means there’s some time they might not be receiivng care–the early years before they’ve been diagnosed when they’re able to cover it up, make excuses, or their family members are just too inundated with work and children to even notice.
But once you start caregiving, there are four major cycles. Think of a pie cut in fourths.
Something has happened. Mom or Dad (or your spouse, sibling, or even child) has had a debilitating accident, a heart attack or the onset of another illness. Perhaps a bout with cancer. They need you and perhaps for the first time, you realize you may not always have them in your life.
The first slice of the caregiving pieis when you’re just the watchful eye in your loved one’s life. They may still be living at home, or they may plan to return home after things get a little easier. After the hospital or rehabilitation stay, or initial diagnosis, you find yourself calling them more often, spending your nights or weekends with your loved one. They might even choose to downgrade at this point–move in with you or into an apartment, or into a gradated living situation (they can trade in their home or apartment for assisted living when the time comes). You might do some chores for them or accompany them to the doctor so you can see what’s going on. On the whole, your life continues on (after the big bump in the road) with just a few more calls or visits added to the norm.
This stage can last for months or even years depending on your loved one’s age and the progression of the disease.
Emotionally, it’s the first timeyou’ve realized your relationship and responsibilities have changed. You feel a twinge at the thought that your loved one won’t always be in your life. You begin to value the time you have together, and although you worry a bit about the future, you don’t do a whole lot about it–in part, because of denial–it’s just not that bad yet and without saying it, you need things to go on status quo. Soon, I’ll check into care facilities, soon, I’ll sit down with their doctor and have a serious talk about the progression of this illness, soon, I’ll gather community resource information…
Complications. Perhaps another heart attack, more than the occasional forgetfulness, or another diagnosis–now your mom or dad (or spouse or sibling) has two major issues.
You’ve entered the second and third quadrant of your caregiving cycle. One melds into the other as your role as a caregiver increases. You go from spending half your time to most of your time caring for your loved one. They maybe wheelchair or walker bound. If they have Alzheimer’s or other neurological disorders, they may not remember you anymore. You’re questioning if you can still work or if your loved one needs full-time care. Maybe you’ve hire home health care during the day and you cover the nights. You might spend weekends at their house or you may need to go ahead and move them into an assisted living facility.
Emotionally, you now consider yourself a caregiver and no longer just a son or daughter or spouse. You’re doing things regularly that a normal, healthy person would do themselves and that makes you a caregiver . This might include financial or medical management, clothes and body care, wound care or injections for diabetes. You’ve learned a lot, and whether you wanted to or not, you’ve had a crash course in caregiving. You might not know all the community resources, but you’ve pieced together a few. You’d like to know more–more about Medicare, more about what their insurance will and won’t cover, more about the disease–but who’s got time? You’re juggling your own marriage, kids, and life. You’ve felt a real strain on sleep and relaxation, and it’s even hard to relax any more. You may have already cut your hours back at work, or quit–and if not, you know the day is coming. You think about the future–too much.
This stage can last weeks or years–and it is insidious and draining, but you know your loved one needs you, so you just have to limp by.
It might be like a slow drip or another traumatic event, but caregiving has taken over your life. You’re now a full-time caregiver. This doesn’t mean that you don’t still work–maybe you have to, but all your time, energy and thoughts are consumed with the needs of your loved one.
The fourth quadrant of caregiving is the most difficult. Your life as you once knew it over, and it’s been over. You’re consumed and numb and most days, you just wish it were over. You ache for your loved one who is now incapacitated. You do pretty much everything for them. They are either bed bound, wheelchair bound, or bound in their mind no longer connected to reality. Your days and nights are spent either giving or managing care. Your health and relationships are suffering, and you know that there’s no turning back–their illness or debiitation has increased to the point of no return. Still, you love them, find moments here and there that are sweet, but the exhaustion and frustration is bone-deep.
At this point, your loved one either enters hospice or if you have not done so already, they enter a care facility that may also include a memory disorder unit.
Emotionally, you admit defeat. You’ve done all that you can. Guilt and regret are plenty, but you now surrender. You can’t or won’t do it any more. You have a difficult time talking to anyone about this. You feel like a horrible person, but you want your life back. You want and need it to be over.
Surprisngly, your loved one may live weeks, months, or years.
***
I would love to give you a different outcome. If your loved one is young or suffered from an accident, they may be able to rebound. For the extreme aged, or for “life limiting diseases,” your loved one will not come back to you–not like they were. This sounds bleak. After the months or years you’ve spent caregiving, and this is the end?
Yes. But not all is in vain. Good has come from this, and while yes, you’d do some things differently, you’ve learned a lot. I know you can’t feel it now. You can’t feel anything. Quit. Stop. Either get hospice or get them into a facility. You need to stop. You’re a good, loving daughter, son, wife, husband. I know you don’t feel like it and if anyone knew what you’ve been thinking…
I know, and I’m telling you, you’re still good.
It’ll take a long time to recover, but you will. Your loved one will pass away, eventually. Make peace with that–with who they are, who you are, and with your journey. Rest. Let go. Yes, keep a vigilent watch as others take your stead, but it’s time to sleep better, eat better, and rebuild your life.
For those whose loved one’s live on, the caregiving cycle repeats in a way. You’re more of an observer as your loved one continues on in a care facility or on through hospice. You simply can’t do it again. Not in the same way.
My mother took that last turn and I called (and insisted on hospice). I chose against a feeding tube as she forgot to eat and swallow. Hospice came in March and she passed in June. You will have to find your own way, your own peace. Go deep in your own heart. Talk to a chaplain or someone you consider wise. I know that each person must follow their own heart, but I do implore you–at some point, you will have to let go.
It took several years after my mom’s passing to come to a place of deep peace. Some days, I felt as if i had killed my own mom, and if it weren’t for hospice reassuring me that I was continuing to show my mother love, I would have crumbled. For those in pain, there’s palliative care, which is such a blessing when needed.
I don’t write all this to depress you. I wish I had seen the bigger picture. I wrote Mothering Mother so that others wouldnt’ have to go it alone.
~Carol D. O’Dell
Author of Motheirng Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
Why I Chose Against a Feeding Tube
April 15, 2008 by Carol O'Dell
Filed under Carol O'Dell, Death and Dying, Hospice, Palliative Care
After all the caregiving, all the hospital stays, doctor visits, baths, pills, and exhaustion, you have one more hurdle–the dying process itself. One of the toughest decisions you’ll have to make is whether or not to insert a feeding tube.
This occurs when you’re at your lowest. Beyond exhausted. Numb.
You call hospice and more decisions need to be made.
Do you have or need to make a Do Not Resuscitate order?
Do you keep your loved one at home? Do you place them in hospice “hospital”?
Do you choose to put in a feeding tube if they can no longer eat/swallow…or do you not?
I chose not to.
My mother had Alzheimer’s. She had lapsed into a coma. A coma isn’t exactly what most people think it is. It’s not that I couldn’t rouse her for a few moments with a lot of effort, but then, for what? For her to be aware of her surroundings? Aware of me?
I began to say my good-byes. I didn’t need her “awake” or alert for this. I could trust our spirits to do the job. I whispered my prayers, my good-byes. Forgiveness was no longer an issue. I felt at peace–with our lives, our journeys, our mistakes. I read her a Psalm, and kissed her forehead. I urged my family to say their good-byes.
Hospice came to our home and did their assessment. I chose not to do a feeding tube.
Why? She was 92 years old, and had had Parkinson’sfor close to 15 years, and active Alzheimer’s for the last three, if not longer. I couldn’t see sustaining this life when she could no longer remember to eat, to swallow, to know anything or anyone.
Still, wasn’t it wrong not to feed someone?
Two books that helped me were How We Die by Dr. Sherwin Nuland–this book was my Bible, and A Handbook for Mortals Handbook by J. Lynn and Harold
Hospice assured me this was natural. The body would shut down itself systematically. It would finish up, just as if it were the last day at work, and it would close shop. They assured me that “starvation” is different. We were not keeping food from her that she wanted or needed. She was not hungry or hurting.
I needed their reassurance. I wanted to bolt. To call 911, to have them bring in paddles and electrical equipment and scream, “STAT.” I needed them to jolt her back to life.
Could they? Had I been watching too many ER re-runs? Life ends. It does. At some point, it ends.
Hospice had set up a bather, but after a couple of sessions, I told them to stop. It was too invasive. I did a little warm sponge bathing as I changed her diaper, but I chose to keep things quiet, in the flow, and peaceful. The weeks waned on.
As much as I grappled with this decision, I couldn’t bring myself to change my mind–and I was the one sitting by her bed 24/7. I watched for signs of pain or discomfort, for her to rouse, to ask for something, even with her eyes. We remained steadfast, me in my vigil, her in her dying. ING. The act of doing something. Present tense. She was dying, not dead.
It took three weeks. I swabbed her mouth with Vaseline, I moistened a cloth and drizzled water into her throat. She’d gag. I stopped. Still, I feared that someone would find out about the horrible thing I’d done. How could I not feed my mother? I wanted to go confess. For someone to tell me I was bad and then to rectify this horrid situation.
The hospice chaplin came. More reassurance I was doing the right thing. I needed it.
She prayed, told mother it was okay to let go now, that I’d be fine. She’d be fine. Go on to heaven, go to your beloved Willie (my dad). That seemed to help us both. Funny, how we have to ask and receive permission to do anything in this world, especially die.
I sat. I prayed. A little. You think you’ll be super spiritual. Quote scriptures. All I could do was just survive. My prayers were not words. Maybe they were there in my molecules, but I couldn’t even form thoughts.
I thought about that tube. What it might be like if she lived a year or two like this, with a tube in her stomach, with me dumping liquid sustenance in three times a day. Even in my thoughts it seemed futile. More futile than sitting still and witnessing death. I had to allow this to happen. Allow my mother’s passing. Allow.
I wrote my way through it. My pen and journal had been my guide and I needed it more than ever. No one could tell me what it was like to sit beside someone dying. I couldn’t find it. I had scoured literature, medical books, self-help, and they all seemed to skirt around it. I needed a step one, step two. I needed insight, foresight, hindsight.
HOW DO I DO THIS? I asked God, myself and the page.
My mother passed away quietly. A few gulps. Three very long weeks. It took all my resolve. It took fighting guilt, regret, fear, sorrow. It took all I had.
In the end, it was just my mother and me on a warm June day. I held her hand. Kissed her.
Allowed her to die.
***
The first year was hard at times. The questions. Did I do the right thing? I did. I know I did. Still, I felt like the police might break down my door in the middle of the night and haul me away. I had let my mother die. This may be a natural part of grieving, to question yourself, to mull over guilt, but you have to move past it eventually. I had to trust and believe that I was not in charge of my mother’s fate.
How arrogant we are to think we have that much power.
Slowly, I began to be okay–with us, with our time together, with allowing, with not inserting a feeding tube. Slowly, I came to a deeper place of peace, acceptance, and resolve.
***
Each family is different. Each situation unique. If it had been my husband, if my mother wasn’t 92 and at the end of Alzheimer’s, if it had been my child, I might (pretty sure I would ) have made a different choice.
It came down to this:
I chose against a feeding tube because I couldn’t justify what I would be bringing my mother back to–I couldn’t change the facts–she had end-stage Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. I couldn’t make that go away, and prolonging it seemed even more cruel than the decision of not putting in a feeding tube.
Dying is part of living. We just don’t have much experience at it.
Once you have grappled with your choice and know that it’s the right choice, just a hard one–then trust.
Trust your gut. Trust your good heart. Realize that your peace about this will come and go, and eventually, it will stay.
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
available on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/motheirngmother
Thoughts From Our Friend, Kim - Where Does Your Garden Grow?
April 5, 2008 by The Grief Blog
Filed under Blog, Dealing with Grief, Death and Dying, Death of a Child, Q&A
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Another Season and the Yellow Butterfly
April 1, 2008 by The Grief Blog
Filed under Blog, Dealing with Grief, Death and Dying, Death of a Child, Q&A
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April 22, 2004, my life was forever changed. My 14 year old daughter, Olivia Corinne Hoff passed away. It will be four years April 22, 2008.
As I look back now, I don’t even know how I survived. I didn’t think it was possible to live another day, another week, another month and another year, but I have. My grief journey continues to this day, such hard work, every day. For those parents who have lost a child, you all know too well how difficult this journey is. Along the way, I felt as though I were stuck, unable to move forward and, of course, not wanting to. By moving forward, I felt that I would be leaving Olivia behind, accepting life without her. I have moved on but in a different way. I will always have a broken heart, my life is not filled with joy, nor do I look forward to the future. It’s too hard to look beyond today.
Well, about two years after Olivia’s death, I noticed that I was paying special attention to each season, seeing and appreciating the beauty of each one. This was something that I had not done before. It was as if I was seeing through different eyes, eyes that were filled with much pain, eyes that still cried so many tears, eyes that longed to see my daughter again. Yet, I could see the beauty that each new season would bring.
As spring approaches, I find myself feeling so sad, crying more, as this is the anniversary month, another year. I just want to see my daughter again, then it happens. I will go outside to look at the garden I planted for Olivia and while I’m outside, the Yellow Butterfly flys past me, as if to let me know Olivia is okay. I see the Yellow Butterfly all the time now and I smile.
Yes, another Season and The Yellow Butterfly, my reminders that my daughter is always with me, always in my Heart. She is free, free to Soar, free to Fly, like the Yellow Butterfly.
Corinne Ruiz
Mom of Olivia Corinne Hoff
No Matter How Your Loved One Dies, He Is Still Your Loved One
April 1, 2008 by The Grief Blog
Filed under Blog, Dealing with Grief, Death and Dying, Death of a Child, Q&A
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no matter how your love on dies. it is still your love one. i was reading a lot of the stoys. and for me im not ashamed to say. my only child was a drug user. its out there more then people now. and there is no shame. because a death is a death. my son was 29 and wanted to go into a detox. a place were he went to before . but left the same night .because he didnt feel rright about being there. i was upset with him. i thought if they take you in thats a blessing. well it went on for a time longer. and no matter what he was mine. we would cry with fear of getting a call he was found dead. him and i would talk. i would be so mad and upset with him. and ask why dont you just stop. and one day he said i wish i never started. cause i cant stop. im hurting everyone and my self. he was ashamed of what he was doing. and he hads two great kids now 5 and6. so one day he said im going in this time because of my boys. well he went to the same place. white deer run in alliontown pa. he didnt have inc. so he went were he could. they picked him up at about 1in the afternoon. we said our good byes. and we would see him soon. he kissed his boys. and we told him we loved him. and he said this time is it. im doing it. well i called the place around 9 pm. to see if they made it in. he was still my baby.the next day the mother of his children got a call. said it didnt look good. my husband and i and the boys were in church. when my phone rang. the man on the other end said. we sent your son to the hospital. we think it was a heart proplem. i said ill be there. it was about a 6 hour drive. i get a another call the man said. i just heard from the hospital. and it dont look good richard is dead. i fell to the floor. no no i cried. this cant be. they were to take care of him. and his name is not richard. please god no. by that time family was here. and i could not talk. it was my son robert. i said i was coming anyway. and he said no his close will be there soon.well i went and to find out. he was never taken to a hospital. and they realy didnot even kneew when he passed away. there was no doctor on duty and nothing there to maybe pull him through this. his roommate found him. so they didnt even care to check on him. and he told them everything he took. so he was telling the truth so he could get the help he need. and at that time of intake he should have been taken to a hospital. they lied and lied to us. and now i know why he left that place the first time. and i often say if i knew he was going there. ihe my still be with us today. i alway thought a detox had the staff and the thing they need in a time of need. you dont go to detox to die. so it dont matter how we lose that love one .it still the pain and hurt we all go through. i was asked just last week from a mother. that lost her girl to an overdose. will it get better. no it wont you just try to deal with it. and we all do it differnt. but the only way i can is through god. and my grandchildren. and the prople were he went to get help. they will answer on day for all the lies. and i guess this is my story. and if it just helps one person. to check and double check were your love ones go for help. i would never want anyone to go throught this. a place that dont do there job. and it was like my son was a noone. why cause he used drugs. but thats what they say thay are there for . is to help. well not this time.
Drs. Gloria and Heidi Respond
Dear Sande,
We are so very sorry for your loss and we thank you for your very touching letter. You are so right when you say “No matter how your loved one dies, it is still your loved one” and we know your words will give courage to many parents who have lost a child to drugs. He was fighting to take care of the problem and you can be so proud of that.
Nothing prepares us to lose a child regardless of their age or circumstances and there are few words that can console us and nothing can fill that empty space that’s left. Grieving is not easy and often we need to turn to othes for help. We recommend a group called Compassionate Friends because each member has lost a child, grandchild or sibling. They are loving an compassionate people who understand what you are going through. To find a group in your area go to http://www.compassionatefriends.org/ If there is no chapter of Compassionate Friends in your area you may want to contact your local Hospice for a grief group recommendation. However, we understand that groups are not for everyone. If groups are not for you we recommend that you reach out to your family, church, and friends for support. We have found that the load of grief is lighter when it is not carried alone.
You might find it helpful to listen on Thursday mornings to the radio show Healing the Grieving Heart You can find information about it and a link to it on the first page of http://www.thegriefblog.com You might also find a number of past shows that can give you help and comfort at http://thegriefblog.com/grief-grieving-death-of-a-child/ Some we believe might be of help to you are:
June 28, 2007
Dealing With Grief and Loss
Guest: Dr. Kenneth J. Doka
May 31, 2007
A Mother’s Journey Through Grief
Guest: Beth Page
June 15, 2006
Helping Your Hurting Heart
Guest: Lauren Littauer Briggs
We often read letters from the Grief Blog on our show and we encourage you to listen in this Thursday.
We will post your story on The Grief Blog and we encourage you to check back for comments. Our readers often reach out to each other with loving compassion and wonderful suggestions.
Blessings,
Drs. Gloria and Heidi Horsley
My Son Died of A Drug Overdose
March 31, 2008 by The Grief Blog
Filed under Blog, Dealing with Grief, Death and Dying, Death of a Child, Q&A
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My experience with my 18 year old son Matt, who died of a drug overdose on June 3, 2007, is somewhat like that of one of your recent guests, Dr. Nancy Rosenbledt.
Before his teens, Matt was a nice, friendly, caring, and happy go lucky kid who for the most part, we did not have any problems with. He did not do as well in school as we would have liked, but other than that, there was no indication of what was to come.
Matt started getting into trouble from time to time around the age of 13 or so. To our horror, his problems involved stealing and drug use. My wife and my two daughters and myself all loved Matt very much. At times however, we became very frustrated with him because of his periodic bad behavior that we could not understand or respect. When he did these things, we would find it hard to believe that he had done them. He knew it was wrong to take things not belonging to him and buying drugs, but it was evident th at he had become very impulsive and also seemed to suffer from low self esteem.
At about the age of 15-16 years old, Matt was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder which my wife’s grandmother suffered with throughout her life. We got Matt on BP medication which seemed to help but not enough. It was also hard having Matt take his medication consistantly. Matt’s behavior led him to at one point, to be sentenced to a teenage detention program empahazing behavioral changes and drug use education for about 7 months. Since it was run by the state of Florida, the quality of the program was less than what I had hoped for. My wife and I found that we had little to no control of where he would be sent. It is a very bad feeling knowing that someone else, meaning the state in our case, has control over your son.
After the program, my wife and I made the mistake of thinking-or at least hoping-that he had grown up in the program, and that his problems of the past we re behind us. looking back now, I wish I had done more for his mental health needs-though it was difficult to get Matt to take action about that.
I could go on and on but the bottom line is that Matt overdosed and died while my wife and I were away from home on Sunday evening, June 3, 2007. The experience of my son’s death has been devastating to me and my family. Throughout all of Matt’s problems, he was still the fun loving, caring, and loving son and brother. That only made trying to understands his problems harder. It seemed out of character but it was reality too. I struggle with his loss everyday and I am not all that sure that I will make it through all of this in good health. I miss him greatly as does my wife and daughters, and I am try to understand how such an unatural and terrible thing like this could ever have happened to me and my family. Anyway, I appreciate your program.
Sincerely.
Tom Friend
trfriend1@msn.com
Drs. Gloria an Heidi Respond
Dear Tom,
We are so very sorry for your loss. There is nothing as difficult as losing a child – there is no pain as deep and excruciating. As parents it is so easy to blame ourselves and search through the “should haves,” “ought tos,” and “If onlys” for some kind of answers and often we come up empty handed. In reading your letter it sounds like you did everything you knew to do in a very difficult and challenging situation. It has been less than a year since this terrible loss and that is a very short time when you are grieving. It is important for you and your family to be gentle with yourselves and with each other right now. Each grieves in his or her own way and in his or her own time – there are no rules and, unfortunately, no short cuts. We wish we could tell you that one day all the pain will be gone but we both know that isn’t true. And yet there will be a time when you can begin to look forward again, as hard as that is to imagine right now.
We strongly encourage you and your family to become involved with Compassionate Friends. It is a wonderful group of people, each of whom has lost a child or a sibling. They understand your loss, your feelings of guilt, your wondering how you can go on can help you, your wife and daughters receive the comfort and support you need right now. The death of a child in a tragic way sometimes pulls families apart but, with help, it can also bind them even closer together. You can find more about Compassionate Friends and if there is a chapter near you at http://compassionatefriends.org. However, we understand that groups are not for everyone. If groups are not for you we recommend that you reach out to your family, church, and friends for support. We have found that the load of grief is lighter when it is not carried alone.
We are glad you are being helped by our program, Healing the Grieving Heart and hope you will continue to listen. You might find help from some of the programs on our archives at http://thegriefblog.com/grief-grieving-death-of-a-child/. We particularly recommend:
December 13, 2007
Men and Loss
Neil Chethnik March 15, 2007
Real Men Do Cry
Eric Hipple
April 5, 2007
Men and Grief
Guest: David Pellegrin
December 7, 2007
How to Help Your Teens Grieve in a Healthy Way
Drs. Heidi and Gloria are guests on
The Parents Hour with Dr. Arline Kerman
June 28, 2007
Dealing With Grief and Loss
Guest: Dr. Kenneth J. Doka
We often read letters we receive on The Grief Blog so we hope you will continue to listen. You letter could be of help to many.
Thank you for sharing your story with our readers. We will post it on the Blog so others can benefit from your words.
Sincerely,
Drs. Gloria and Heidi
