At the opening ceremony of TCF’s National Conference held in 2003, Maria Housden, author of the marvelous book, Hannah’s Gift, was the featured speaker. She began by telling how that morning she had conversed with a man she met on the elevator. When he asked her why she was staying in Atlanta she told him that she was there as a speaker for The Compassionate Friends, a organization offering support and hope for parents, siblings and grandparents who had suffered the
death of a child.
As oftentimes happens when hearing what TCF is, the man suddenly was at a loss for words. As he got off the hotel elevator he broke the silence by turning to Ms. Housden and said, “Well, knock em’ dead!”
Of course, the man was mortified after he realized what he had just said; his inadvertent remark was simply a common phrase often used as a send off to someone about to tackle an audience. Unfortunately, not exactly a well-timed or good choice of words considering the situation, but certainly not intentional!
It was easy to tell which people attending the opening ceremony
were still quite fresh in their grief and who were the seasoned grievers (those further down the grief road from their child’s death) solely by their reaction to Ms. Housden’s attention grabbing opening to her speech. As I looked around at the faces of those sitting near me, it was quite obvious who was who.
I thought back to my own early grief. I had always considered myself someone with a very good sense of humor, but the days and months following my daughter Nina’s death, I couldn’t imagine finding humor in ANY situation EVER again. I remember witnessing the laughter of strangers and thinking, “Didn’t they know my daughter was dead? Hadn’t their world been shattered into a zillion fragments like mine had?”
My first experience with someone trying to mix a little humor with grief was renowned and much loved speaker, Darcie Sims, a grief psychologist. I saw her at a conference for bereaved parents held in Minneapolis barely a year after my daughter’s death. I was shocked at how someone could make me laugh out loud and then bring me to tears in almost the same breath.
At first I was uncomfortable with my own laughter. But I think it helped that Darcie was herself a bereaved parent and therefore she had “been there” too. Just as I had seen the more seasoned grievers in my TCF group enjoy laughter again, Darcie’s humorous, yet poignant speech gave me hope that I would one time too hear the sound of my own laughter and be comfortable with it— something I thought was an impossibility.
There is, of course, disgustingly unsuitable “humor” where grief is
concerned. I am repeatedly appalled at what I see and hear from the so-called comedians on late-night TV, who seem to find hilarity in the most inappropriate topics: I have heard jokes made about drunk drivers, cancer, suicide, and AIDS with alarming regularity.
Obviously, these same “comedians” have never felt the sting of death of someone they loved that was caused by any of the above causes. My oldest daughter is an actor and used to perform for what are called Murder Mystery Dinner Theaters. For example, one of the advertisements read: “Where Murder is Always on the Menu!” She admitted that until her sister Nina died that she didn’t really think about how, though seemingly innocent, these shows could be hurtful to those whose loved ones had suffered such an atrocity and how
personally painful this mockery of death had become to her after
the loss of her little sister.
I know what I, in my early grief, thought about laughter— truthfully, I didn’t care if I ever laughed again. I remember a dear friend telling me how she was so tired of hearing from other non-bereaved. “Your daughter wouldn’t want you to be so sad. She would want to hear you laugh.”To which my friend sternly answered, “No she wouldn’t—she would want me to hurt.”
This was early grief talking. The misconception here is that we
oftentimes feel that by laughing, we are somehow dishonoring our children, by appearing as if our renewed interest in enjoyment of life again meant we stopped caring about and loving them.
However, we all know deep down that could never be true; we know it is possible to find some humor in unison with the intense forever love of our children, no matter how much we miss them. I know that the aforementioned friend, who is now a “seasoned” griever, would agree.
And though you may not be ready to hear it now, eventually, somewhere down the road (remember: there are no timetables in grief – our grief experience is as individual as we are), you will remember a funny story from your child’s life and it will feel good to remember it
with laughter. And I truly believe your child will smile and laugh along with you.
Cathy Seehuetter 2011
Tags: signs and connections
Hi Cathy – Yes…Indeed we will laugh again. And, coincidently that’s how I ended my eulogy that I delivered at the funeral for our daughter, Amanda. I looked out into a sea of black and an over-flowing church – and simply ended with – ‘and someday we WILL laugh again.”
We were among the lucky ones (at least that’s how I’ve dealt with this horrific happening) Mandy was 29, just received tenure -elementary school teacher, and married less than two years. She was diagnosed with stage 2B cervical cancer – treated – (April – June), taught all through this and then told not to return for two months while they waited for the treatments to work.
While setting up her classroom the last week of August, she told her co-teacher to take her to Urgent Care. The entire family was summoned immediately. It had matastisized to another location and this time there wasn’t much they could do other than attempt another series of chemo.
I had the opportunity and blessing to be invited to assist my son-in-law in the care of my daughter. This is why I say – I was among the lucky ones. Although we never once discussed the reality and evitablity of what was ahead, I was with her. I got to witness my daughter’s marriage. What they had was truly beautiful. He was uplifting,supportive, gentle, caring and most loving. I had heard such horror stories of men walking out on their wives simply because they couldn’t face the situation. Such cowards!
I consider myself lucky as we didn’t suffer the unbearable shock of receiving a phone call or answering the door to see an officer standing there. Yes, I was present for the initial diagnosis. Yes, we then were present for the final diagnosis of stage 4B – and then being told it was actually diagnosed as “unknown origins” – for which I was then very concerned for her twin sister.
I was in a state of shock for approximately 9 months (curious number…..now, see – we can laugh)I had stayed back in our home town following Mandy’s passing – not wanting to return to our new home in FL. I needed to be close to the remaining twin and to my friends. I needed that comfort….
Upon return to FL I went to our pastor who took one look at me and stated he couldn’t help me but wanted me to go see a psychologist friend. She was probably my saving grace. My angel… After a few months of therapy, I began returning to my “old life” and participating in some things. Curiously, I lost my singing voice – it’s still not returned. But I’ve rejoined the living.
I see and hear Mandy everywhere. I’m convinced she sends me messages (as do her sisters and brother). In her memory and honor, we have created a foundation for pediatric cancer research. Mandy was the reason behind this foundation, and we see such good coming out of such loss. We get to see smiling children and smiling families.
I hope that your members will read this and find some ray of hope for the future. The loss of a child is probably the most painful loss we can experience. We (mothers) gave BIRTH to this child. We are NOT suppose to then bury them.
We were blessed also by way of watching her grow up into a beautiful loving woman and find and marry her love. We never got to see her physically have her own child, but through her teaching we saw how in such a short time (3 yrs) she had touched so many children’s lives. Those children are now going into jr. high school – and they still speak about Ms Mandy….
As cruel as this sounds, life does and will go on. My push came from Mandy directly – what would she want me to do? Curl up and ignore life or gather myself up and participate….she was an athlete – did I really have a choice?
Margee July, 2011