Your Dad Is Here

I see my husband in my son in small ways:  the way he rolls up his long sleeved shirts, the set of his jaw when he is annoyed or determined to do something he really wants to accomplish and the way he plays chicken with his car's gas tank and won't fill it up until it is almost empty.

When I see those traits it is bittersweet: they make me laugh and but they also make me feel a little sad and wistful.    "He is still with us," I think to myself.  My husband had a very strong personality so I am not surprised that I see some of him in our son.  It's just when those quirky things appear, they always have a way of taking me by surprise.

 

 

 

My thoughts today are with fathers and the important role they play in their children's lives.  While my son's father died nine years ago, I appreciate the important role he played in our young son's life and how his influence can still be felt today.

 

Please read the timely story below which I found on the insightful website, Hello Grief (www.hellogrief.org).  The author, Abigail Carter, sweetly reminds us of the importance of Dads everywhere; the ones who are with us today and the ones that we forever hold in our hearts.

 

Happy Father's Day!

 

 

 

Every Day is Father’s Day

By Abigail Carter
June 8, 2010 

Father’s Day never held much importance for our family until the death of my husband, Arron, father of our two young children.

 

The day usually began with a childish command for him to stay in bed so he could be the lucky recipient of a sticky tray of burnt pancakes and watery coffee, and be handed a construction paper card with “I lov you dady,” in bright red crayon, or a popsicle stick picture frame with a blurry Polaroid of a proud pre-schooler.

 

Later in the day, as he jiggled the kids around on the heavy metal lumber cart at Home Depot, I refrained from my usual “step away from the power tools,” and allowed him to run amuck, our list of supplies forgotten in his pocket. For dinner I would make one of his favorites – chicken stew, or if the weather was nice, a steak grilled on the BBQ and a glass of wine after the kids were in bed.

 

Our first Father’s Day after his death was spent in the company of several other widows on a deserted New Jersey Shore beach watching our children romp around in the waves or play in the sand, wishing we had the ability to play so freely, wishing we could have our old lives back. The male volunteers who grilled hot dogs for lunch just seemed to add salt to our wounds.

 

The days and weeks afterward were spent in a heightened state of agitation to which we were oblivious – fighting, frustrated, exhausted – until someone pointed out how difficult Father’s Day must have been. Finally able to connect the dots between the day and the aggression that had settled upon my family, the black moods eventually dissipated, at least until the next event that needed to braced for, like one of the kid’s birthdays, or another wedding anniversary. Year two was a repeat of year one, the bracing, the beach, the fatherless kids, the male volunteers, the loneliness, the anger, the exhaustion.

 

Friends and family, while well-meaning often added to the stress, building the potential heart-break of the day by calling to offer sad Happy Father’s Day wishes, or to offer to take the kids away, thinking that what they needed was to spend time with a man, one that was usually someone else’s father.

 

There was another year, the year I picked my son up from Pre-K after his class had been busy making presents for their fathers, and when we got into the car, he threw the present at me, something square wrapped in emerald green tissue paper. “Who am I going to give this to?” He yelled. “All the other kids have dads and I don’t!” In one day, with the realization that he was not like all the other kids, he had gone from a sad child to an angry one – anger that eight years later is only beginning to dissipate.

 

For many widows with children, Father’s Day creeps up and pounces on us. Sometimes we just anticipate it with dread – more glaring evidence of what we have lost. Everyone (not just widows) tries to celebrate the day in some meaningful way, trying to honor that special Dad. Newspapers and television ads are filled with things we are meant to buy, sentiments we are meant to feel. There is so much pressure to ‘honor” our loved one properly, even when they are alive, but no one seems quite sure how to go about doing so.

 

We have tried a variety of different activities on Father’s Day. Things my husband would have enjoyed: bike rides in the park, planting a shrub in the garden, an IMAX movie downtown, a steak on the BBQ. The day has become less sad, held less meaning as the kids grow and have adapted to their life with only one parent. But with each passing year, Father’s Day becomes less and less volatile.

 

The kids have almost passed the period in elementary school where presents are being made in class. And if they are, the kids have adapted. Presents have been awarded to grandfathers or other men of importance in their lives at the time. I considered last year a kind of breakthrough when my son, still in elementary school decided to participate in his class’s annual Father’s Day craft project. When the day arrived, he presented his gift to me saying, “since you are pretty much like our dad as well as our mom, this is for you.” It was the compliment of a lifetime, and reminded me how far we had all come.

 

This year will be our eighth Father’s Day without a father to honor, and again, it will likely be passed with very little fanfare. In other years I have felt guilt for wanting to ignore these events, making up for it by forcing a celebration with trips to the beach, riding bikes, making Mickey Mouse pancakes – pretending that our family was still whole, pretending that my husband could still appreciate these efforts. It was my son who finally reminded me of the pressures I was putting on all of us when he asked, “Why do we always do all this stuff on Father’s Day when we don’t even have a dad?” I thought we had been doing it to remember him, but I realized that really I was doing it because I felt like I had to. My efforts were stressing me out and doing nothing to help us remember Arron, let alone honor him.

 

Instead of pancakes and bike rides and beach trips one day every June, I realized that all it takes to celebrate Father’s Day is for me to recognize one of my husband’s goofy expressions in our daughter, or his familiar glint of mischief in the eye of our son and laugh saying, “you look just like your father when you do that!”

 

That way every day is Father’s Day.
 

* * * *
By guest writer, Abigail Carter. View more of her essays at www.alchemyofloss.com ^[2] and learn more about her at www.abigailcarter.com ^[3].

Your Personal Path

Unlike many things in life, there is no right or wrong way to grieve.

There's really just your way.

 

Whether it's through talking, crying, or slowly processing your feelings privately, grief must be acknowledged.  If you try to suppress your grief feelings, they will only come back later on and sometimes they come back in unhealthy ways.

 

 

Even though others will probably try to suggest that you should do certain things at certain points in your grief process, it really and truly is up to you and what you feel comfortable doing.  There is no schedule.

Some people bury their feelings and hope that their sadness will go away on its own because life feels like a bad dream.  Others talk openly about their loved one and try to constantly share the fear, disappointment, frustration and guilt of their stories.  Many people find it comforting to set up memorials to their loved one and the process of setting up such a memorial starts the healing process for them.

 

But grief shakes us to the core and makes us question aspects of our lives that we once took for granted.

Below is a different kind of story about grieving that appeared on the website Hello Grief (www.hellogrief.org).  It is a story of a woman who grieved privately, away from others as she searched for the facts and the reasons for her loved one's death.  She tried to use the process of searching for answers as a distraction so she wouldn't have to think about what happened to her.

 

This story is one more way of creating a dialogue about grief and coming to an understanding about the complicated yet personal way that people decide to process their feelings of grief:

My Life As An Analytical Griever
By Emily Clark

How being an intellectual helped – and sometimes hindered – my grief.

Numerous studies have been done over the years that look at the ways that people grieve. A number of theories about the styles or patterns of grief have evolved from this research. Perhaps one of the best theories I have heard over the years contrasts emotional and analytical grieving.

Emotional grievers are probably the people we stereotypically imagine – loud outbursts of emotions and tears, heavily dependent on those around them, weeping on the shoulders of friends and strangers alike, fully immersed in the emotion of grief whether they are in public or at home.

Analytical grievers, on the other hand, are the people who often get a bad rap when it comes to their grief. These are the grievers who often experience their emotions when they are alone – they save the crying, weeping, and wailing for when they are alone. For me this usually meant breaking down in the car on the way to or from work or, when I just couldn’t take it anymore, in my office at work (thank goodness I didn’t work in a cubicle).

Because analytical grievers don’t often display much emotion in public, people around them often think they aren’t grieving “correctly” or at all. I remember a family member telling me 9 months after my husband had died that he didn’t think I was all that heartbroken because he hadn’t seen me ever cry. The truth was, I cried all the time. For hours and hours, every day. I just did it when I was by myself and didn’t have to worry about what others might think or how uncomfortable I might make them feel. It wasn’t until much later on in my grief journey that I realized that letting go and crying in public from time to time might actually have made me feel better. It would have saved me hours of agony trying to hold in my emotions as they built up and built up until I burst.

We analytical grievers also spend a great deal of time and our grief energy on trying to figure things out and get things done. For some this could mean hours poring over medical researching online, filling out forms, reading every book on grief possible, planning a funeral, or taking up every ounce of busy work available. While my family sat around scratching their heads in confusion, I insisted on going over every detail of my husband’s vehicle accident, over and over. I read the coroner’s report, witness testimony, and practically interrogated the first officers on scene until even they couldn’t take it anymore. I insisted on seeing what was left of my husband’s wrecked vehicle, despite all advice to the contrary. I immersed myself in book after book, seeking out literature that might hold the key to saving me from the mess I was in. For me this was all a part of trying to understand the how and the why of what had happened. I needed information. I needed answers.

Sadly, these answers never came. With every new detail I acquired, I felt as if I understood less and less. All the facts in the world couldn’t take away the simple truth: that my husband was gone and never coming back. Over time, my obsession of analyzing his passing became a distraction from my grieving. Rather than facing the truth and finding healing, I was distracting myself from the pain. Well…as much as one could anyway.

Eventually I began to realize that I would always be left with a multitude of unanswerable questions, and let myself drift into an ocean of pain and emotion. While I never lost that tendency towards trying to “intellectualize” my grief, I began to appreciate and embrace my emotional side as well. There was a delicate balance between trying to understand and just letting myself feel.

So if you or someone you know is grieving, I urge you to take a moment to consider your own grief style as well as theirs. Instead of questioning the way they express themselves, try to remember that there is no right way to grieve. For some, our comfort is in being alone and keeping busy. For others, healing comes from crying on the shoulder of a friend (or stranger). Whatever the case, I urge you to embrace your grieving style and respect the grieving style of those around you.

Our thanks to guest author Emily Clark for sharing her story here with us. You can read more of Emily’s journey through young widowhood on her blog.

The Adventures of A Treasured Urn

 

 

 

Today I am not trying to make fun of a serious situation, it's just that being responsible for a container of a loved one's ashes can lend itself to a lot of funny situations even if you don't mean to be funny.

In my case, my husband was not cremated.  I know if he had been cremated, I would have taken very good care of his ashes.  But eventually, knowing me, I'm sure some kind of accident would have happened.

Having his ashes stored in an urn in the house might have started out to be a comforting thing, but eventually someone (me) probably would have knocked the container over, coughed or sneezed near it when the lid was open or the most likely scenerio is that I would have put the ashes someplace I considered "safe" but then later I would have forgotten where the "special place" was located; temporarily losing him.

That's why I laughed when I read the following story from a bereavement support website called Hello Grief.  I can picture this whole story happening to me very easily.  Here goes:


Getting Used To The Weirdness
By Emily Clark
www.hellogrief.org


While I’ve always loved a morbid joke or two, my wry humor was pushed to its limits in the wake of my husband’s death. There are just some things you can’t possibly anticipate and have no choice but to accept.

The day I went to pick up my husband’s ashes I was forced into yet another encounter with one such awkward moment. The urn weighs far more than you’d expect and it was a struggle just to get it to the car. At that point I pushed it onto the front seat and headed for my side of the vehicle.

Oh wait.

If I take off, is it going to roll right off the seat? Round marble might make one heck of a projectile in the event I slam on the brakes. Visions of the urn flying through the windshield and striking down some sweet little old lady pushed everything else out of my mind. I had no choice. I’d have to buckle it in.

I start up and pull away but damned if I could focus on anything other than the strapped-in ashes sitting next to me. Now I’m not one of those widows who thinks of my husband’s ashes as my husband. In fact, when others refer to the ashes as “him” I get a little weirded out. Can he see out of that urn? Feel? Think? If so, I’m in big trouble. Especially considering what happened next.

The urn was far too distracting and I couldn’t stop the impulse to constantly reach out and put my hand on it. Only two blocks into my drive I pulled over, stepped out of the car, and fought off a full-blown breakdown. I couldn’t put it in the back seat because I knew it would be just as distracting and my recent desire to cleanse my house had left next to no room between the boxes of clothes for donation, picture frames, and recyclables. It would only roll around on the floor.

That left just one place.

The trunk.

Right up next to the spare tire was the perfect little spot to wedge the urn into and, as I rightly guessed, out of sight, out of mind. I drove home at peace, without a second thought.

Until two days later when I headed to work and kept hearing a clunking sound I was sure meant big trouble and an expensive trip to the mechanic. It was only when I popped the trunk to investigate I realized I’d left them in there. I’ll never forget the reaction from the first family member I told: “You put Craig in the trunk!?!”

I guess I never thought of it that way.

The was only one of the many new weird situations I found myself growing accustomed to when I was widowed. Situations that would have made my stomach churn with apprehension over the awkwardness mere months before. Situations that friends and family (and random strangers) cringed over when they were forced to share them with me.

Having to explain to the DMV that my husband, in fact, could not renew or cancel his vehicle registration, no matter how many times they asked. Going with my new husband to the accident site. Accidentally setting that extra seat at the table. Crying in public. Crying to police officers when I get pulled over. Wearing my old wedding rings remade at my wedding. Sitting on the floor amidst the spilled cheerios, picking at what I can for breakfast. Correcting my husband’s coworkers for the third time about how to spell his name.

The longer you are widowed the more the taboo around death diminishes for you, and the more you can take a step back and just shake your head or laugh when caught up in these weird moments. Sometimes the hardest part is remembering that while it’s your new normal, it is still weird to everyone else.

But I try to face each day with my sense of humor intact, laughing when I can, worrying less and less about what others might think, all while keeping my crying outbursts to the safety of my own home. Or car… or grocery store… or church… Ok, I confess, I cry wherever I feel like it. That’s just part of this new weirdness I guess.

Our thanks to guest author Emily Clark for sharing her story here with us. You can read more of Emily’s journey through young widowhood on her blog. ^[2]

God Bless The Child

Children are not small adults who can basically raise themselves.  Children can be resilient but only to a point.

Being the oldest of six children, having 35 first cousins and also being a mother has taught me that children are much smarter than we ever give them credit for, but that doesn't mean that they understand all that is happening to them in their homes, schools or in the world at large. Their bodies, brains and emotions are still developing and they need all the love and guidance we can give them.

I am a big believer in honesty when talking to children but also in making sure that the information I give them is age appropriate. While the airwaves may carry images and words for all of us to see and hear, that doesn't mean all should see and hear it. Even as an adult there is stuff out there that I don't watch or listen to because I don't want it in my brain. It's not that I can't handle it, I just don't want it.

These days, children get bombarded with information they're not ready for and they don't have much choice about what they see and hear because the adults in charge of television, movies, radio and other electronic gizmos have gotten greedy and want it all to remain pretty much uncensored so they can continue to have access to what they want.

This is all the more reason for children to feel that they can trust and believe in at least one adult in their lives.  When faced with stress and trauma, especially the emotional trauma of losing someone they love, they need to know there are adults out there who have their backs. Their little hearts can only take so much and that's why talking and listening to a child is crucial during a bereavement period.

I know my son did not want to talk about his father's death at all but I had to slowly get him to let his feelings out.  He had to feel safe about talking openly and honestly about his good days and bad, his sadness, fear, disappointment, anger and even his hopes.  It took time for this to happen and it's still an ongoing process.

If you're not sure what to do or say to a child who is having a difficult time dealing with the loss of a loved one, here is a helpful story from Hello Grief, a website (www.hellogrief.org) that "addresses grief head-on, with real people providing real-life opinions, and sharing real-life stories":

Having Good Conversations With Your Kids

By Hello Grief

While children experience the same feelings of despair, sadness, helplessness, anger, anxiety, guilt, confusion and fear that adults do following a loss, they often do not have the maturity and experience to understand, identify and express those feelings.

Communication is key to helping our children understand their grief, and begin addressing it in healthy ways. Without communication, you will not know where your child may have a misunderstanding about how or why the loss occurred.

With communication, you will be able to identify areas in which your child is struggling with their grief, and how you can help.  It is important to continue discussing the loss and after affects of the loss (such as moving, remarriage, life milestones), with your children over time.

Below are a few tips to having open, successful communication with your kids about grief and loss at any age:

As a parent, understand what your goal is before starting the conversation - why are you wanting to talk to your child? Is there a specific issue you want to discuss? A specific question you want to uncover?

Stay on topic – Once you decide on your goal for the conversation, don’t use this time to bring up other “issues” you’ve wanted to address unrelated to the conversation (i.e., homework, house chores, dating, etc).

Create a safe environment – Atmosphere can play a huge role in your child’s willingness to open up about how he or she is feeling. Have this discussion in a safe place, away from others who may overhear. Don’t create an intimidating environment, such as starting this conversation in places associated with “getting in trouble.” Having a snack, or doing an activity during which talking is easy could be helpful (such as coloring/drawing, riding in a car, going for a jog, etc).

Allow your kids to be able to say whatever they need, any way they want, to during your conversation - This does not mean you have to allow your child to use profanity if you do not typically allow it. Rather, enable your child to say what they need to say without “correcting their story,” should you remember it differently, or have a different opinion. It also means not keeping any topics “off limits” – including the details of the loss, even if it’s difficult for you to discuss. Let them say what they need, and ask the questions they need without limitation.

Know that some things are off limits to parents - It’s not you, it’s them. And it’s normal. But, having more frequent safe, and honest conversations with your children will help them build trust and begin to discuss more. Also know that even if your child isn’t saying anything to you, it doesn’t mean they are not benefiting from the conversation. Know they are processing internally. You should also make sure that your child has additional outlets to have the conversations they can’t have with you – such as a counselor, or support group.

I'm Listening

I have found that when you are talking to children of any age about almost any subject, you should be prepared to hear things that can be so truthful that it can take your breath away.  That's not a bad thing.  I think it's wonderful but not everyone is always ready to hear the unpolished truth. 

That's the beauty and wonder of children: there usually is no filter on their wise thoughts.

In talking to my son about his father's death, I tried to keep our conversations as honest and open as I could.  I felt it was more important for my son to express himself and vent his frustrations than it was to worry about whether his words hurt my feelings.

The conversations were for him, not me.  He needed to have a way to verbalize his thoughts and feelings even if they didn't make sense.  This was about him, a then 13-year-old boy, working through his jumble of emotions instead of ignoring the pain and trying to go on with his life and tamp it down inside himself.

I didn't think it would be constructive to tell my son that we needed to talk about his loss and then make him filter and edit his point of view.  I knew he needed to say what he felt and not what he thought I wanted to hear.  There were times when I was surprised by the rawness of his anger but I couldn't show it.  I figured if I did show my surprise or displeasure while talking to him, then whatever progress we made in communicating would be erased by me revealing what I felt or thought.

 Hello Grief, an insightful support website for children, teens and adults, addresses having serious conversations about a loss with children and offers the following tips which I hope you also find to be helpful:

 

Having Good Conversations With Your Kids

By Hello Grief (www.hellogrief.org)

While children experience the same feelings of despair, sadness, helplessness, anger, anxiety, guilt, confusion and fear that adults do following a loss, they often do not have the maturity and experience to understand, identify and express those feelings.

Communication is key to helping our children understand their grief, and begin addressing it in healthy ways. Without communication, you will not know where your child may have a misunderstanding about how or why the loss occurred. With communication, you will be able to identify areas in which your child is struggling with their grief, and how you can help.

It is important to continue discussing the loss and after affects of the loss (such as moving, remarriage, life milestones), with your children over time.

Below are a few tips to having open, successful communication with your kids about grief and loss at any age:

• As a parent, understand what your goal is before starting the conversation - why are you wanting to talk to your child? Is there a specific issue you want to discuss? A specific question you want to uncover?
• Stay on topic – Once you decide on your goal for the conversation, don’t use this time to bring up other “issues” you’ve wanted to address unrelated to the conversation (i.e., homework, house chores, dating, etc).
• Create a safe environment – Atmosphere can play a huge role in your child’s willingness to open up about how he or she is feeling. Have this discussion in a safe place, away from others who may overhear. Don’t create an intimidating environment, such as starting this conversation in places associated with “getting in trouble.” Having a snack, or doing an activity during which talking is easy could be helpful (such as coloring/drawing, riding in a car, going for a jog, etc).
• Allow your kids to be able to say whatever they need, any way they want, to during your conversation - This does not mean you have to allow your child to use profanity if you do not typically allow it. Rather, enable your child to say what they need to say without “correcting their story,” should you remember it differently, or have a different opinion. It also means not keeping any topics “off limits” – including the details of the loss, even if it’s difficult for you to discuss. Let them say what they need, and ask the questions they need without limitation.
• Know that some things are off limits to parents - It’s not you, it’s them. And it’s normal. But, having more frequent safe, and honest conversations with your children will help them build trust and begin to discuss more. Also know that even if your child isn’t saying anything to you, it doesn’t mean they are not benefiting from the conversation. Know they are processing internally. You should also make sure that your child has additional outlets to have the conversations they can’t have with you – such as a counselor, or support group.

SWF Seeks Replacement Husband

I found this touching and beautifully written story, SWF Seeks Replacement Husband, on Hello Grief (http://www.hellogrief.org/), one of the many blogs I follow.  As you read it, you can feel the author gather her inner strength as she goes through the transition from widow to a single woman on the dating scene. 

By Hello Grief

 

“Online dating?” I said, trying to keep the sound of horror out of my voice. “Seems impersonal.”

“It’s kind of fun,” my colleague was saying. “You write a profile and post a picture and guys email you if they are interested.”

“Wow” I managed, trying not to sound shocked that my demure colleague engaged in such activities.

“Sounds easy enough… Has anyone emailed you?” I queried.

“I was emailing this one guy and then we went on a date,” she said. “But I haven’t heard from him since.” She was trying to sound light hearted, but I could hear her disappointment.

“That must be a problem…” I trailed off.

“You should try it,” she cheered. “You’ll have a million guys writing you.”

After months of prowling the man-site anonymously, I resolved to write a profile about myself. Artistic? Creative? Smart? Insane? Everything I wrote sounded ridiculous. Tall, attractive (?), sexy (?), 9/11 widow, mother of two, hasn’t dated in eighteen years, seeks handsome rich prince who loves kids and is not afraid of a ghostly dead husband in the closet…

My choices of photos were limited due to the fact that I was the photographer in the family. There was the coy one, with my baby daughter and my grandmother, both of whom I would have to crop delicately out of the picture. And there was the demure photo, posing smartly for a corporate newsletter in a turtleneck.
But where were all my sexy shots? I sneaked glances at the other women’s profiles, to see what I was up against. Even the 50-year old women looked sexier than I could ever imagine being. I settled on the coy-girl-next-door-with-cropped-out-baby-and-grandma-shot.

I posted my profile and photo to the website and then waited for some kind of response. Almost immediately, I got a few “winks,” one from an elderly looking gentleman claiming to be 44; one from a man showing his nude torso wearing his firemen’s boots and suspenders, and one from an orange-tanned jock with no neck.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I browsed the site as though I were in a giant man superstore: Nice eyes, but too pudgy; funny profile, but too short; great in every way but a smoker; tall and handsome, but doesn’t want kids; wonderfully intellectual, but weird bulbous nose; sincere, but can’t spell.

My eyes were beginning to glaze over when one man caught my eye. Widowed architect, loves to garden, lives in Manhattan… I spent two weeks working up the nerve to write him an email. What to say? Hello fellow widow person. Isn’t this a strange club to belong to? I am absolutely terrified of dating, and still love my dead husband, but would you consider going out with me?

Finally, I wrote him: Hi! (Trying to sound upbeat). Loved your profile (Flattering the ego). I like to garden too (Showing common interests). I look forward to hearing from you (positive, yet non-committal). Regards, Abby.


I waited for a response. And waited. And waited. I am still waiting. It was humiliating. I retreated from the man-site to lick my wounds. My worst fears of being “un-datable” were being realized. Now I was the one who was too tall, too widowed, too many kids, too unsexy, too something.

I had to admit that I was lonely for companionship, plus my kids begged me regularly to have a “new” daddy. I think though, that my biggest motivator towards rushing fate was my determination not to waste a moment of my life. If Arron’s death had taught me anything it was that there wasn’t time to sit around waiting for life to happen to me. I resolved to push fate along by making the effort to get myself out into the world by whatever means necessary, no matter how painful it might prove to be.

My palms were sweaty as I maneuvered the car into a space near the coffee shop where I was to meet my … dare I say it … date. I sat and breathed for a few minutes staring at my hands on the wheel, trying not to panic. Oh God! The wedding ring! I had forgotten to remove it. What to do? Stuff it in my purse? My bra? I stared down at my hands admiring the chunky gold band on my left ring finger. It seemed to cling adoringly to my hand. I slid it up my finger and the shiny white skin that was revealed seemed to cower like a snail without its shell. I hesitated. I pulled the ring all the way off and held it in my hand. I had forgotten how heavy it was. I slipped it onto my right hand ring finger, struggling to push it over my knuckle. I held my hands out to survey the effect of this transition. Both hands felt strange and backwards, like they weren’t my hands at all. They seemed sad and alone — the hands of a single woman.

I wiped a tear from my eye. “I’m sorry Fab.” I had betrayed my husband Arron’s (Fabbo to me) love with my bold, impulsive move. I had done it unceremoniously, sitting in a car. No music, no pomp, no kisses, no smiles. Just a cold, grey New Jersey December sky to accompany my small ceremony. I recalled another in-car ring ceremony.

Arron’s wedding ring had been his father’s pinky ring, which though beautiful with his father’s initials embossed into its pink gold, had proved to be problematic as a wedding ring over the years, given that he wore the ring on his left pinky finger.  I had always wanted him to have a regular ring finger wedding ring, but had deferred to his wishes when we were married, knowing the sentimentality he held for his father’s ring since his father’s death when Arron was 17.

Arron and I had sat in this same car on a warm and sunny Saturday with the kids strapped into their car seats in the back. We had waited while Arron dashed out to the jewelers and came back clutching a small blue velvet box. He opened it and held the bright, shiny ring, which we had chosen together up in the sunlight, ready to slip it onto his hand. “Shouldn’t there be a little ceremony, or something?” I had said.

“OK. Here.” He handed me the ring. It was a lovely gold band, strong and simple.

I slid it slowly onto his ring finger, smiling at him and then kissing him gently when it was in place. He held up his hand and we were both pleased with the effect. I loved Arron’s hands – strong, creative, sensitive, loving. The ring was beautiful and I felt proud being bound to him by it.

That simple little ceremony felt like an instant renewal of our love, something secret between just the two of us. I still have his father’s pinky ring, which I will someday give to our son. Arron died wearing his new wedding band.

Now, staring at my own hands, grey in the dim light of the mid-winter morning, I mourned him once more. “It’s just coffee,” I told myself.  I hoped that my first-ever blind date would not notice the glaring whiteness of my loss, wouldn’t see my hand shake as I held my teacup. I hoped my voice wouldn’t crack when I answered the inevitable question,… ”So, how did he die?”

I touched my thumb to my ring once again for reassurance as I opened the coffee shop door.

Special thanks to Abigail Carter, author of “The Alchemy of Loss: A Young Widow’s Transformation” for sharing this piece with Hello Grief.

Moments of Grace



Moments of Grace

By Colleen Wilson

http://www.hellogrief.org

October 5, 2011

As many grieving people know, keeping a loved one’s memory alive after they die can be a difficult task. There are many images, voices, smells and memories that you want to remember forever, but each day it can become a little bit harder to grasp on to what used to be. I have definitely been struggling with this ever since my mom passed away two years ago this December.

Since my mother’s death was unexpected, I have often worried about feeling disconnected to her or become scared that I’m going to start forgetting the little things about her. Thankfully I have found comfort in small “moments of grace” that reassure me that my mom is still with me throughout each day. These moments have been occurring within my family’s life through the appearance of deer and ladybugs.

Female deer symbolize caring, gentleness, intelligence, watchfulness, and most importantly to me, maternal traits.  Some cultures believe that anyone who sees a deer has seen the animal so that they can look deep into their own heart and find their deepest treasure.  When I was growing up, our yard always attracted deer. They would come to eat my mom’s Hosta plants even after she would try vigorously to cover them and make them seem less appetizing. So when deer started appearing more frequently after my mom died, my family saw it as a comical sign.

The day after she passed away, my aunt and I were in the foyer of my house. As we opened my front door there were six deer standing there, looking in. We knew right away that it had to be a sign from Mom. We felt that she was trying to tell us that even though she was gone, there would always be six people in our family.

The deer made another appearance when I woke up on the morning of what would have been my mom’s 50^th birthday and heard our golden retriever barking loudly. When I looked out our side window, I saw four deer in the front yard. I turned to my dad and said, “You know this is a sign right?” He stood there as his eyes welled up, and he responded, “She must have wanted to make sure we were all up in time for mass.” That morning there were four deer, one for each family member that was in the house at the time. Since her death, my family and I have seen many deer, in some very unique places and times. I love seeing them because they remind me that my mother is always watching over us.

It is not only in one of God’s largest animals that I see my mom, but also in one of His smallest creatures. On Christmas Eve, about a week after my mom’s death, my friend Katy was in our church for midnight mass. After lighting a candle in memory of my mom, she felt something small touch her on the face. She thought it was a fly, but her mom told her it was a ladybug. Katy tells me that she knew it had to be a sign. In her head she said, “If it really is you, Mrs. Wilson, please fly by again.” Two seconds later, it did. Because it was in the middle of winter she thought that it was quite an odd and unusual coincidence. But she sincerely felt that the ladybug held a message for us, and afterwards shared her story with my family.

Since then, we have been seeing ladybugs everywhere. No matter the weather, I can find ladybugs sitting on the porch of my townhouse or gathering in the back room of a restaurant. On what would have been my parent’s 20th wedding anniversary, my family and I went to New Hampshire for a vacation. Upon walking into the hotel I noticed a ladybug cartoon on the bulletin board in the lobby. I was also graced with the presence of a ladybug when I was in Jamaica this past January for a service immersion trip. I was having an emotionally draining day working with burn victim children at a local children’s hospital. I was standing in the playground watching the kids play on the swings when I felt something on my hand. When I looked down I saw a ladybug crawling up my arm. I sat there taking in the moment of grace as I watched its short legs move underneath it. Even in another country, my mom knew just how to brighten my day.

After researching this little bug I learned that the name “lady bug” finds its origins in the Middle Ages. The insect was dedicated to the Virgin Mary and called the “beetle of our lady.”  This name links the ladybug to spiritual ideals and religious devotion. It also holds a link to mothers. Because the life cycle of the adult ladybug is short it teaches us how to release worries and enjoy our lives to the fullest. It is often seen as a messenger of promise telling us that we need to release our fears and return to love.

For a grieving family, moments of grace can be the difference between a rainy day or a sunny one. I realize that seeing the deer and ladybugs is difficult because they are constant reminders that my mom is gone, but they also reassure my family that she is with us.

I challenge today’s readers to think about their loved ones and try to recognize ways in which they could be sending you messages: yesterday, today or tomorrow. Finding ways to connect with a loved one even after they passed can be challenging at first, but it can also bring comfort in difficult times. What ways have you found to stay connected?

Special thanks to guest author and HelloGrief community ^[2] member Colleen Wilson for sharing this piece with us.

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Article printed from Hello Grief: http://www.hellogrief.org
URL to article: http://www.hellogrief.org/moments-of-grace/

School Days -- Reminding Teachers About A Loss

School days are here again and the usual anxieties are filling children's heads: a new year of learning, a new teacher, new friends or a new school.  Along with thoughts about wearing the right clothes, hanging out with the cool crowd, comes an additional layer of concerns for those children who are still dealing with a death in the family or perhaps one that may have occurred during the summer.

This school year also brings the commemoration of the tenth anniversary of 9/11 and reminders of this event are all around us: television specials, national ceremonies and the opening of new memorials.  Children and teens are particularly aware of the events of that tragic day and may want to talk about what they remember happening on that day and what it means to them now.  In ten years, their perspective on what happened may have changed in a way they didn't expect.

The following timely article was recently posted on Hello Grief (http://www.hellogrief.org/), a website full of insightful information and other resources for children and adults dealing with grief and loss.  I thought  this article revealed a very important point of view that should be shared:

Reminding Teachers About A Loss

By Hello Grief

As summer winds down, many families are preparing for the annual pilgrimage that is "Back to School" time.  Some children and teens are excited for the new school year, some are nervous, and some are just unhappy to see their days of sleeping late come to an end.  Regardless of where your kids fall on this spectrum, there are some additional things to take into consideration if they have had a loss.

Many physicians, counselors, and friends will encourage a parent or guardian to speak with school personnel immediately following a death in the family.  Taking time to do so can help teachers and administrators to understand the challenges your child may be facing upon their return to school, and help them to know when to reach out to the family.  Teachers who are aware of a loss are more likely to be sensitive to a student's feelings around partcular holidays, such as Mother's Day or Father's Day, and help to present alternate activities when needed.

But what if the loss was not recent?  What if the loss occurred 4, 5, even 10 years ago?  Children and teens continue to move through their own grief with each passing year.  Something a parent or guardian can do to support this process is to meet with teachers and school administrators before the beginning of each school year.  We may assume that the information about a child's loss will be shared with new teachers, but this is often not the case.  A new school year is hectic for teachers, just as it is for families, and all too often, this important information can be lost in the shuffle.  As class sizes grow, school districts change, and new teachers are hired, it is important for each parent or guardian to act as an advocate for their child.

As each year passes, children and teens will develop new understandings of their loss, and new realizations of how it impacts them.  A child taking their first algebra class may feel pangs of regret that they never took up Dad's off to coach them on their math skills.  A teen entering high school may realize for the first time that their big sister will not be there on the first day to help them find their locker.  Things that cause mild anxiety for some students may manifest as hugh stressors for a child or teen who has suffered a loss.  Making teachers and administrators aware of these losses can go a long way in making sure these grieving students are supported during their school year.

If it isn't possible to meet personally with your child or teen's teachers, it can still be beneficial to share this information through a simple email or a letter.  Even sharing the basics, such as who died, when the loss happened, and how your child or teen does/does not like to discuss it can be valuable information to a teacher.  No matter how you share the information, it will offer an opportunity for teachers to better understand your child, and to be mindful of the loss during the school year.

Most teachers and school administrators would prefer to know about any special challenges a student has, and grief can certainly be counted as such.  Taking the time to be an advocate for your child or teen can help to set them up for a successful school year, every school year.