L'Wren Scott

One of my sisters and I were talking on the phone the other day about the tragic news that fashion designer L'Wren Scott had been found dead in her New York City apartment at the age of 49. 

 

We talked about what the news stories were reporting -- that she had used a scarf to hang herself, that she designed such beautiful, beautiful clothes, that she was so glamorous herself and that she was the longtime girlfriend of  Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones.

 

L'Wren Scott and Mick Jagger

More importantly, we reiterated to each other that no matter what was happening to us, we would always know that we could call each other in case of a personal trauma.  That there should never be the feeling that anything could be so utterly hopeless.  That if we found ourselves in a place that made it difficult to reach out that we could depend on each other to intervene and help. 

 

Of course we don't know L'Wren Scott personally and all that we know about her is what we read in the newspapers and see on television but there was something about her that came through in the pictures taken of her that gave you the feeling that she could be one of your friends and if you did meet her in person you would like her and probably go to lunch with her and have a lot of fun.

 

The way that her life ended just seemed so incredibly and heartbreakingly sad.  The idea of someone being alone, feeling that they were so very alone, desperate for a way to deal with their life at that point and to take their own life brought home how vulnerable we as human beings can be in the midst of our problems and especially how life can sucker punch you when you least expect it.  No suicide note was found in her apartment but reports have speculated that she was having financial problems with her business and was possibly as much as $6 million in debt.

 

Dark thoughts can sometimes creep into our psyche but we have to be on guard to fight them and make sure that they don't overtake our feelings and actions.  We also need to make sure we talk to others about our fears.  Suicide is particularly difficult to come to terms with and is much more complicated than the way I am writing about it today but it's hard to imagine that there wasn't someone out there who could have helped her; it goes against our instincts to think that suicide is even an option.

 

We may never know for sure what drove her to that isolated place that day.  We live in an highly competitive and fast-paced society that can take a toll on the sensitivities of some of us.  I choose to think that if she had confided in someone about her anxieties that they would have offered her a strong and helping hand.

Please rest in peace L'Wren.

  

Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney, a celebrated and grand Irish poet who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1995, sadly died yesterday in a hospital in Dublin at the age of 74. 

Irish Poet And Nobel Laureate Seamus Heaney

To say that Heaney had a way with words is an understatement.  His powerful verse transported readers around the world to Ireland and sometimes to its rural landscape and the grind of its daily responsibilities.  To me, his phrasing always felt magical and lyrical no matter what subject he addressed. 

As a tribute to Heaney's great talents, here is Digging, one of my favorite poems that Heaney wrote in 1966.  Every time I read it, I feel as though I am right there with him in the bogs, smelling the wet dirt and watching as turf is cut for fuel.



Cutting Turf In Ireland

Digging

By Seamus Heaney 1939–2013

 

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

 

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

 

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

 

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

 

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

 

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner’s bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

 

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

 

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I’ll dig with it.

 

 

Seamus Heaney, "Digging" from Death of a Naturalist. Copyright 1966 by Seamus Heaney. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC.

Source: Death of a Naturalist (1966)

Crying & Healing

This post is for anyone, and in particular someone who is close to me, who is currently going through an anxious time in their life and is unsure how it will turn out.

Anxiety may be dogging you and causing sleepless nights, loss of appetite, an increase in appetite, a need to abuse alcohol or drugs (please don't!!!!), crankiness or sadness and crying.  As in crying constantly.  Like every day.  At any time.

This person close to me was talking recently about how crying really does make her feel better but she's also aware that it doesn't make others around feel better.  Crying is normal and is a healthy release from sadness, tension, frustration or anger about a particularly stressful situation.



But even though crying is normal, it scares alot of people; both men and women.  I have seen people who can handle incredible amounts of stress or pressure or work completely mishandle a situation when they see someone cry in public.  They either just stand there fumbling through words that they hope will make some kind of sense or they find a reason to excuse themselves and walk away.

Hello?????  Really??????  All the person needs is a comforting gesture.  Let's exercise our human natures and try to connect with one another.  A hug or holding a person's hand or putting an arm around their shoulder would be wonderful place to start.  Just keep telling yourself that it's not about how uncomfortable you feel.  It's really about helping the other person who is obviously in some kind of distress and is falling apart in front of you.

Many years ago, I would cry all the time.  I didn't plan it.  And I didn't do it on purpose.  I would just feel an overwhelming sadness and then the tears would start to well up and I couldn't stop myself.  I had no control over my feelings at all.  At the time, I was grieving over the loss of my husband, for our life together and for our life as a family with a young child.  I really did try to keep it together but for about a year I cried a lot.

I didn't even care where I was when I cried.  I didn't even care how other people reacted to my crying.  I was so beyond worrying about how I looked when I cried.  Sometimes I would do "The Ugly Cry," as Oprah calls it, which is full out face crying with your face twisted and red and your mouth wide open and then other times I would find myself sitting quietly and the tears would roll down my face.

I did scare myself once with my crying.  Once, when I was at the cemetary early in the morning during the work week when no one was there, I was kneeling on the ground and talking to my husband at the same time.  I was full of emotion and frustration and anxiety and I cried so hard that I got a nose bleed.  That was bad!

 

I was at a particularly low point in my life and never in a million years would I ever wish that absolute down-in-the-gutter feeling of loneliness on anyone.  God bless you if you happen to be in that place right now.  I am sorry for what you are going through righ now and I am sending you a hug and a message of strength so you know you are not alone and that there is always hope.

 

I know it doesn't feel like there is any hope right right now.  The person close to me doesn't feel it either.  But there is hope and I know it is within you.

 

Let it burn within you and please allow yourself to feel your inner strength and always believe in your ability to build on it.

 

It's okay, in fact it's necessary to give yourself permission to cry, for your tears are a comfort and a sign you are processing your anxious feelings.  Releasing your tears may help you sort out your feelings but they will never extinguish your beautiful inner spirit or your power to renew your life.

 

College Rejections Are Not The End Of The World

It's that time of year.

 

You know.  College admissions and rejections.

 

You are either laughing with joy from the news of your acceptance or crying because you got rejected.

 

If you didn't get into the college you wanted, it feels as if it's the end of the world, doesn't it?  But guess what?

 

It's not.

 

You don't know where life is going to take you; who you're going to meet and where you're going to go.  Life is full of the unexpected and the unplanned.

 

I am in a place I never thought I would be but it's still good!  I think I could ask my friends the same questions about college, careers and life and they would agree that life does not always unfold the way we think it will but it ends up working out.

 

In one of my former lives many, many years ago, I was a reporter in Washington, DC who wrote for The Boston Globe.  I covered the Massachusetts delegation on Capitol Hill.  I worked very hard, learned a lot about how things really work and also had a ton of fun.

 

Part of that fun was getting to know a group of stellar reporters and writers who were considered to be in a category all by themselves.  Their work was untouchable.  They were not only great reporters and writers but they were great people outside of work.  David Nyhan was one of those guys.

Below is a classic story that Nyhan wrote in 1987 about keeping life and the whole college admissions thing in perspective.  And The Boston Globe continues to reprint it all the time because no one can say it any better.

Please read it and you will discover the special way that Nyhan had with words and more importantly, that his words still ring true today.

David Nyhan

Did You Get A College Rejection Letter?  Here's Some Sage Advice?

By David Nyhan, Globe Staff

Former Globe columnist the late David Nyhan wrote the following column in 1987. Since then, it has been reprinted in the newspaper and online many times around this time of year. Nyhan died in January 2005.

THE REJECTIONS arrive this time of year in thin, cheap envelopes, some with a crummy window for name and address, as if it were a bill, and none with the thick packet you'd hoped for.

''Dear So-and-so:

''The admissions committee gave full consideration . . . but I regret to inform you we will be unable to offer you a place in the Class of 2012." Lots of applicants, limited number of spaces, blah blah blah, good luck with your undergraduate career. Very truly yours, Assistant Dean Blowhard, rejection writer, Old Overshoe U.

This is the season of college acceptance letters. So it's also the time of rejection. You're in or you're out. Today is the day you learn how life is not like high school. To the Ins, who got where they wanted to go: Congrats, great, good luck, have a nice life, see you later. The rest of this is for the Outs.

You sort of felt it was coming. Your SAT scores weren't the greatest. Your transcript had some holes in it. You wondered what your teachers' recommendations would really say, or imply. And you can't help thinking about that essay you finished at 2 o'clock in the morning of the day you absolutely had to mail in your application, that essay which was, well, a little weird.

Maybe you could have pulled that C in sociology up to a B-minus. Maybe you shouldn't have quit soccer to get a job to pay for your gas. Maybe it was that down period during sophomore year when you had mono and didn't talk to your teachers for three months while you vegged out. What difference does it make what it was? It still hurts.

It hurts where you feel pain most: inside. It's not like the usual heartache that kids have, the kind other people can't see. An alcoholic parent, a secret shame, a gaping wound in the family fabric, these are things one can carry to school and mask with a grin, a wisecrack, a scowl, a just-don't-mess-with-me-today attitude.

But everybody knows where you got in and where you didn't. Sure, the letter comes to the house. But eventually you've still got to face your friends. ''Any mail for me?" is like asking for a knuckle sandwich. Thanks a lot for the kick in the teeth. What a bummer.

How do you tell kids at school? That's the hard part. The squeals in the corridor from the kids who got in someplace desirable. The supercilious puss on the ones who got early acceptance or the girl whose old man has an in at Old Ivy.

There's the class doofus who suddenly becomes the first nerd accepted at Princeton, the 125-pound wrestling jock who, surprise, surprise, got into MIT. But what about you?

You've heard about special treatment for this category or that category, alumni kids on a legacy ticket or affirmative action luckouts or rebounders or oboe players. Maybe they were trying to fill certain slots. But you're not a slot. You're you. They can look at your grades and weigh your scores and see how many years you were in French Club. But they can't look into your head, or into your heart. They can't check out the guts department.

This is the important thing: They didn't reject you. They rejected your resume. They gave some other kid the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that kid deserved a break. Don't you deserve a break? Sure. You'll get one. Maybe this is the reality check you needed. Maybe the school that does take you will be good. Maybe this is the day you start to grow up.

Look at some people who've accomplished a lot and see where they started. Ronald Reagan? Eureka College. Jesse Jackson? They wouldn't let him play quarterback in the Big Ten, so he quit Illinois for North Carolina A & T. Do you know that the recently retired chairmen and CEOs of both General Motors and General Electric graduated from UMass? Bob Dole? He went to Washburn Municipal University.

The former minority leader of the United States Senate, Tom Daschle, went to South Dakota State. The former speaker of the US House of Representatives, J. Dennis Hastert, went to Northern Illinois University. Dick Armey, the former House majority leader, took a bachelor's degree from Jamestown College. Winston Churchill? He was so slow a learner that they used to write to his mother to come take this boy off our hands.

I know what you think: Spare me the sympathy. It still hurts. But let's keep this in perspective. What did Magic Johnson say to the little boy who also tested HIV positive? ''You've got to have a positive attitude." What happens when you don't keep a positive attitude? Don't ask.

This college thing? What happened is that you rubbed up against the reality of big-time, maybe big-name, institutions. Some they pick, some they don't. You lost. It'll happen again, but let's hope it won't have the awful kick. You'll get tossed by a girlfriend or boyfriend. You won't get the job or the promotion you think you deserve. Some disease may pluck you from life's fast lane and pin you to a bed, a wheelchair, a coffin. That happens.

Bad habits you can change; bad luck is nothing you can do anything about.

Does it mean you're not a good person? People like you, if not your resume. There's no one else that can be you. Plenty of people think you're special now, or will think that, once they get to know you. Because you are.

And the admissions department that said no? Screw them. You've got a life to lead.

The Loss of A Child

When I have been in support group sessions and listened as people have talked about losing a spouse there is usually a sense of bonding, a feeling of "having been there" in the expressed feeling or thought.  A supportive dialogue usually ensues and sometimes people even feel a sense of progress.

 

Being around other widows and widowers can be a blessing after you have lost a spouse.  I remember thinking, "Finally! Here are people who are dealing with what I am dealing with!"  Because of our shared experience, we could tell jokes or cry or get angry about the loss of our loved ones.  I think we even began to think that maybe losing a spouse is something most adults eventually have to experience.

 

 

 

 

I remember though when a woman whose husband had recently died began talking one day about how she also had lost her child.  I felt a stillness and reverence come over the room.  The death of anyone you love permanently changes your life.  A spouse, a parent, a friend.  There is always a yearning for more time and a need to connect even after they are physically gone.

But the death of a child is in a category all by itself.  Such a profound loss is unbelievably cruel and goes against the natural order of life.  

Anyone who can talk, let alone sit down and write a complete and rational thought about their deceased child is a person who is truly resilient.  Jeremy Shatan is one of those people.

 

Please read about his beloved Jacob in the following New York Times story and some of the jarring events that have marked Jeremy's journey since Jacob's death.

March 3, 2013

A High-Functioning Bereaved Parent

By JEREMY SHATAN

New York Times

 

So where am I now, 13 years after my 2½-year-old son, Jacob, died because of a brain tumor? One thing I can say is that my junk mail has no idea where I am. The other day I threw out yet another letter offering to give us advice on Jacob’s college career, as well as a solicitation to re-subscribe to Highlights magazine. Obviously, Jacob is not going to college. And my surviving children are 11 and 13, a bit out of the Highlights demographic.

 

One construct I use to help myself understand where I am now is a term my wife and I came up with: High-Functioning Bereaved Parent. As is often remarked, someone who has lost a spouse is handily defined by the word “widow” or “widower.” But there is no shorthand to describe a parent who has lost a child. Language is a reflection of culture. The great majority of people will never experience the loss of a child and would prefer not to think about it all that much. Raising children is fraught enough without having to dwell on their mortality. So for now, H.F.B.P. will have to do. I’ll certainly take it over “every parent’s worst nightmare.”

 

So how exactly does being a High-Functioning Bereaved Parent manifest itself? I get out of bed, I help raise our kids and run our household, I laugh, tell jokes, watch violent movies, listen to music and go to concerts. So it all looks pretty good from the outside, and it usually feels … not bad, which is how I prefer to answer when someone asks me how I’m doing. I have no doubt that much of this equilibrium comes from the fact that my wife and I have been together through all of this and still find a lot of joy in our marriage and our surviving children. I also have the privilege of being the executive director of Hope & Heroes Children’s Cancer Fund and working every day to improve the lives of children with cancer alongside the staff of the Herbert Irving Child & Adolescent Oncology Center. Among bereaved parents, I consider myself very lucky that I get to work for Jacob every day.

 

But I knew from the moment Jacob died that we would never get over his loss; we would only learn to live with it. At the risk of torturing grammar, perhaps I should revise that mantra to be “we would only be learning to live with it,” because it’s a process that never stops.

One way I know that is from the physically jarring sensation I feel when the huge chasm in my life abuts the solid ground I usually walk on. It could be at a high school information seminar for my daughter, for example. There’s just this moment of wrongness. Somewhere in my soul there’s a trajectory for Jacob’s life that is still going on, a part of me that wonders why we haven’t already hit these milestones with him first. The natural order of things has been disturbed, but that hasn’t entirely stopped me from attempting to hew to that order. Or it could happen with a change in the weather, which can trigger a sense memory sending me back to the time when Jacob was being treated.

 

That aspect of things is a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, I suppose, which feels like unprocessed experiences that my brain is constantly working on behind the scenes. A hint of fall in the air, and the curtain is momentarily yanked open, exposing the churning attempt at understanding what happened.

 

For reasons like those, some days are more effort than others. Also, occasionally my status as an H.F.B.P. can lead to a balancing act in relation to my work. Naturally, I can empathize with the parents I meet at the clinic — I have walked in their shoes. But since Jacob did not survive, I don’t want to shake their carefully constructed hope that their child will. One thing I always make sure to convey is that each diagnosis is unique and that treatments have continued to improve. My perspective still allows me to have hope for others, and if things do take a turn for the worse, I can offer the powerful example of my own survival after the loss of my son.

 

But it hasn’t always been that way. In the emotional chaos shortly after Jacob died, my wife and I took our infant daughter to a retreat for bereaved families provided by Chai Lifeline. We were already wrung out, but this was a new form of wringer: story after story of gut-wrenching, unimaginable loss. My wife got a migraine so intense that the rattle of a newspaper caused her pain; we considered leaving after the first night.

 

We stuck it out, and through the haze it dawned on us: you can live on after the loss of a child, it’s not impossible. After the retreat, when the sadness would threaten to become overwhelming, I would think of these other bereaved parents and take strength from their behavior. Regular conference calls with a group of dads also helped a great deal.

 

So my path has not been through completely uncharted territory. I have had mentors to follow, whether or not they would have called themselves High-Functioning Bereaved Parents. In the end, I’m not sure if being an H.F.B.P. is a choice, exactly, but I believe that putting a name to our “condition” has helped us not just survive, but to thrive and engage with life more fully.

---

Jeremy Shatan lives in Inwood, Manhattan, with his wife and two surviving children, is proud to serve as Executive Director of Hope & Heroes Children’s Cancer Fund, and writes about music at LINK 3 AnEarful and @AnEarful.

Dealing With "The Blues"



Covered Bridge in West Cornwall, CT
 By Thomas Schoeller

I keep a folder of story ideas and I was going through it yesterday in search of something timely to write about that I thought would also be helpful.  Some of the things in the folder are ideas I have quickly written down so that I don't forget them and other papers include clippings from newspapers and magazines.

 

I came across this bit of wisdom from The Washington Post's Marguerite Kelly.  Kelly writes a popular advice column called The Family Almanac.

Here is a question that a reader sent in about something I've experienced and I'm sure some of you readers may have too.  Kelly's insightful answer is just wonderful!:

Question: What is the way to deal with the blues?  My dad died two months ago and sadness has been coming out of nowhere ever since.  It sneaks up on me while I'm going about my business, eating breakfast or running errands.  Sometimes I have to retire to the bathroom at work so I can pull myself together.

It almost seems harder to get over my father's death than it was to get over the death of my husband las year, although I may be forgetting how sad I was at that time.  Or maybe it's the culmination of it all.  When I sit in my bedroom, here on my farm, I'm in the quiet, with just the silence of the sunset out of my window to keep me company, and I pray about being alone.  I guess the blues are part of my life now, a thing that has to be endured by me.  There doesn't seem to be a way around the sadness I feel.  How can I keep it from consuming me?

 

 

Answer from Kelly:  If you think that you should be done with the blues after just two months or a year, you're asking way too much of yourself.  The more love you have given to someone, and the more he has given to you, the harder the waves of grief will hit you when he dies.  Such is the price of love.  You can expect these waves to keep hitting you for the next few years.  But you shouldn't regret your grief, for it is giving you the time you need to draw on the strengths and the goodness of those you've loved and lost and to dwell on the memories you have shared.

As you stumble along, you'll find that grief is a journey and that you're going to feel pain along the way, no matter what you do.  The pain will be less intense, however, and less frequent, if you remember the happy times more than the sad ones.  You wouldn't want grief to define you.  You can also deflect some of the pain by making a few small and important changes.

 

If you've been living alone since your husband died, you may be giving sorrow too much space to grow.  Consider getting a tenant.  Your pastor may know a parishioner who would like to rent your spare bedroom, or perhaps a nearby college has a visiting professor or a graduate student who needs a place to stay.

 

It may bother you to share a fridge with a stranger at first, but a tenant is never a stranger for long.  You could also get rid of sad feeling in a more creative way.  You may not be able to paint or scult, but you can tear up scraps of paper and turn them into a collage that will be quite meaningful, if only for you.  Or perhaps you can write about our feelings in a journal.  If you compare your early entries to the ones you just wrote, you'll be pleased, and somewhat surprised, to see that your mood has gotten brighter by the day.

 

You also might grieve less if you try something you"ve never tried before, such as stargazing, bird watching, gardening or kayaking, because every new skill will introduce you to new friends and new ideas.  You'll dig your way out of grief best, however, when you start paying more attention to the living than the dead.  There is always someone who needs a meal to be delivered, an errand to be run or a needs whenever you can, because it is the right thing to do, and also because you don't know what tomorrow may bring.  We've been told to live each day as it it was the last one we'd ever have.  But we might be nicer to our loved ones if we thought that it would be the last one they would ever have.

 

In addition to these ideas, there are also many books to help you get through your grief.  "Necessary Losses" by Judith Viorst (Free Press, 1998: $16) is still one of the best.  This seminal book will help to put your heart and your mind to rest.

Don't Wait -- Put It In Writing

When we miss someone, we sometimes search for something they gave us, such as a handwritten note, or something that belonged to them, such as a piece of clothing.  Seeing, touching and even smelling something they once used helps us feel closer, as though the person were with us.

Whether the person died or moved away, you are feeling sad and you need to find something that will help you work through this lonely moment and perhaps even help you feel stronger for the future.  Handwritten letters or cards are particularly valuable.  I think everyone has a letter tucked away in a drawer or in their memory that they received from someone they loved or respected.

What could be better than a note from someone who took the time to sit down and write their heart out to you?  The person's thoughts to you are frozen on the paper and to make it extra special, their thoughts are in their handwriting.

I don't think an email, while important and a common form of communication today, will ever evoke a warm and fuzzy feeling like a personal handwritten note.

The sister of a colleague of mine at work wrote the following touching story that was recently published in the Buffalo News.  As soon as I read it, I had to share it with you.  It is truly beautiful and reflects the human journey of crying, laughing and finally reaching a place of healing after a loss is experienced.

Thank you Melissa!!!!!!!

Handwritten Letter Is Timeless Memento

By Melissa Knights Bertrand
Buffalo News
July 28, 2012

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From the time my kids could pick up a crayon, I have been ridiculously sentimental about everything they have ever penned, from scribbles and stick figures to beautiful poems, stories and sentiments. Consequently, I am overwhelmed and inundated with paper!

Many mommies I know have this little battle each day with the amount of paper that comes in versus the amount they are able to recycle or file away before the next day's backpacks are unzipped and explode onto the kitchen counter tops. While most are practical and discerning, ridding themselves of all but the important pieces, I have a difficult time parting with anything my kids have ever drawn or written.

For years this has plagued me. How could an organized purger like me struggle so to dispose of even the most trivial scraps of paper? It dawned on me recently that handwritten sentiments, in all their simplicity, are amazingly powerful, and my connection and unusual attachment to them is deeply rooted in a loss that will forever color my world.

For 28 years, I have missed my Dad every day. Father's Day has always been particularly empty. He died when I was in high school, cancer quietly and quickly staking its claim on his unsuspecting 38-year-old body, robbing our family and the world of an amazing light. Best known for his hilarious sense of humor and goofy antics, he was kind to all who crossed his path and truly liked by those fortunate enough to know him.

He adored his family, had sun-worn good looks and a soft spot for spaghetti and Elvis. In the numb months that followed his untimely death, most of his belongings were donated or carefully preserved and tucked away. Among the few items that remain are letters he wrote to my mom, sister, brother and me from his hospital bed in his dying days.

I cannot fathom how I would ever express all that I needed to say if I knew I were leaving my kids to go on without me. I can barely complete the thought. I suspect this act gave Dad a measure of comfort and peace, writing what was impossible to speak. As my memories of him fade, his handwritten letter to me is all that I have left of him - a man and a life personified on a piece of notebook paper.

I encourage everyone to tell the people you love how you feel about them. Put it in writing - your beautiful handwriting. Tell them all the things you might find hard to say out loud - your feelings, memories, regrets and dreams. Share how loving them has impacted your life. It doesn't have to be deeply philosophical or the least bit perfect, just you. In this era of texts, tweets, emails, blogs, Facebook and other impersonal electronic communication, your handwritten words will be a timeless memento and beautiful legacy of your life and relationships for generations to come.

This year, I pledge to make peace with all the paper and organize it in some sane fashion, perhaps even toss a little. In honor of Father's Day, I framed Dad's letter so I can read it every day and marvel at the beauty of his penmanship, as well as his feelings and wishes for my life.

What was once too painful to read now graces the top of my dresser as a daily reminder that we are only promised today. I am so grateful to have something as personal and profound as this to cherish and remember.

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.

Handling Negatives

Like the weather, feelings are unpredictable. 

Sadness and anger come and go.  So do joy and excitement.

The most sensible approach to handling such feelings is to accept them...and continue doing what you need to do.

~ David K. Reynolds, A Handbook For Constructive Living

9/11 -- Ten Years Later

Photo by Newsday

Sadness...Awe...Gratitude...Grief.  All woven together, this is 9/11, ten years later.

Sadness and grief for the lives lost that awful day but gratitude and awe for the extraordinary memorial now in place at Ground Zero and the heroic efforts of fellow Americans who made it possible for survivors to talk about how they miraculously escaped the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

Human strengths and human frailties live side by side today at Ground Zero in New York City, the Washington, DC Pentagon building and the field where Flight 93 crashed in Shanksville, PA.  Across the United States, Americans are commemorating the thousands of lives lost and mentally reliving the tragic terrorist events that took place ten years ago.  The sounds, the sights, the smells, the thoughts of that horrific day come rushing back as we recall loved ones lost and loved ones who survived the destruction but still deal with the physical and psychological effects of the those terrorist attacks.

The anniversary of losing a loved one is always a painful  time  of "remember whens" and "what ifs," but there can also come a point in your personal grief journey when you decide that the anniversary is more than the loss of that person; that the anniversary can be spent as a day to celebrate the beauty of that person's life and the positive impact they had on you.