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-----Original Message-----
From: Randy Koster (Remote)
Sent: Wednesday, November 28, 2001 9:32 AM
To: jayne@TCF (E-mail)
Cc: Randy Koster (Remote)
Subject: A GRIEF SHARED - (BRAD)
TO: Jayne
We are the Kosters (Randy & Elaine -
Marietta, GA), I would like for this message to find it's way to
Lynda Boucugnani-Whitehead and anybody who may deem it meaningful.
Reading Lynda's story / article (see attached) has helped us so
much, and I would imagine it must have also, at least somewhat,
helped others to understand how parents who have lost a child may
feel. Lynda is perfectly on the mark with her description & points
made. It has been very difficult for us since our son BRAD passed
away with cancer on July 20th and during his efforts to fight so
hard to try and survive the disease which started in late March.
Elaine & I have been so blessed to have
such good support from our family / friends during this time. BRAD's
friends / High School have also come together to honor BRAD by
creating a website in his name www.bradkoster.com and to establish a
Memorial Scholarship Endowment in his memory. The incredible out
pouring of interest and support by his friends has made us so proud
of them and of our son for "touching so many people" in this way.
With regards to Lynda's message, it's very
difficult if not impossible for others to truly understand until you
have "walked in those shoes" and we certainly hope others never have
to.
The points that Lynda made, helped us
realize we can & should feel as we do individually. This grieving
thing is most definitely a personal process that a parent must sort
out for themselves and it is OK to do that separately from your
spouse. I believe Elaine & I both realized this key point the second
day after BRAD's death, when we were with family members and trying
to work-out the funeral arrangements. Elaine wanted to have a closed
casket because BRAD had lost so much weight with the struggle of
fighting the cancer and she wanted his friends to remember him as he
was.
During the process of this I wanted to
include BRAD's golf items next to his casket and she preferred we
not. I stopped the whole process and reminded her and the family
members we had sometimes had different opinions about raising our
son over the past 22 years, but we always came together with a joint
decision in his behalf. At that point we knew this grieving thing
would be a personal individual thing and we would respect one
another's feeling even more than ever before.
The profound sadness we experience is such
an indescribable pain, but the one thing that helps relieve that
pain, for the moment, is to hear BRAD's name and we very much agree
with Lynda on this point. One specific thing that I have been doing
to help also relieve this pain for myself, is to stop and ask
myself, am I feeling this pain because of me purely thinking &
missing BRAD or is it a selfish thought of myself for not having
BRAD any longer and the impact it has on me. To me there is a
definite difference and with this in mind I try and eliminate the
selfish thought and it has helped me sort through and deal with
this. It maybe "splitting a hair", but for me that's the way it is
and it took a while to understand the difference. In sharing this
with Elaine, she too now agrees with this feeling and it has started
helping her also.
My specific point for stating all of this
is to say, it's OK to grieve differently, as Lynda points out. There
is no "cookie cutter" method for dealing with the pain or
time-frame. The reality of all of this is to try and accept the fact
of "death is part of life", no matter when it happens and there is
nothing we can do about it.
In my mind, as a parent you have three
basic choices during all of this, 1.) you can check-out (stop your
life), 2.) you can go mad meaning - be mad or physically go mad
(mentally) or 3.) seek the positive from the situation and help
yourself and others to understand.
LYNDA, thank you for putting into words the
reality of this pain and your efforts to help others with the
understanding they desperately need!
Randy Koster
-----Original Message-----
From: TCFAtlantaSharing@tcfatlanta.org
[mailto:TCFAtlantaSharing@tcfatlanta.org]
Sent: Saturday, October 27, 2001 7:54 AM
To: tcfatlantaonline@yahoogroups.com
Subject: A GRIEF SHARED
~reprinted from The Compassionate Friends Atlanta Nov/Dec 2001
newsletter.
Hi Jayne:
During our last Compassionate Friends
meeting we were talking about how to let other people - especially
"helping" professionals know about what grief and loss is really
like. We have often talked about ministers and in my case, I thought
about other psychologists. We also think a lot about people in
general, employers, family, etc.
After this meeting, I began toying with the
idea of how to let at least one group of professionals know about
this and thought about writing an article. Then came Sept. 11th and
shortly after that I
felt "compelled" to do so. The article has
already been accepted for publication in the magazine of the Georgia
Association of School Psychologists and I have sent it along to some
other organizations but haven't had time to hear a response yet. If
you are able to use it in any way in Compassionate Friends, please
feel free to do so. Hope you are doing okay and hope to see you
soon.
Lynda Boucugnani-Whitehead
(Maria Victoria's mom)
A GRIEF SHARED
Lynda Boucugnani-Whitehead, Ph.D.
This will not be the typical article you
often see in a professional publication. There will be no references
to scholarly works, no discussion of what has been gleaned from
years of research, no statistics, no methodology.
Rather, this will be a story from the
heart, one that I hope may help psychologists first understand, and
then do what they do best. I had the inspiration to write this
article just a week or so before the tragedy in New York.
In my frame of reference, following the
horror at the World Trade Center and Pentagon and in Pennsylvania,
perhaps this is divine inspiration - this is something I just have
to do.
What is it like to live through such a
profound grief, to have your whole life changed in an instant, to
have much of your future taken away, and to find yourself in a world
that you don't recognize?
We have all had at least a taste of this,
as Americans, our lives have been changed by these events. There is
a loss of a sense of security and for what we thought our future
would be. But what about those people who have sustained a more
profound and excruciating loss - the loss of a loved one who was
treasured and so much a part of the fabric of your very life.
What is it like to have that person taken
away so abruptly, to one minute have that loved one beside you as a
part of your dream, and the next to have that love ripped away from
you? What do psychologists and other helping professionals need to
know in order to help those who have sustained such a loss?
This story is very personal for me and,
therefore, so difficult to tell. As many of you know, my daughter,
Maria-Victoria, was killed in an automobile accident just three
blocks from my home as
her brother was driving her home from
school.
A speeding driver ran through a red light
and smashed into their car killing Maria-Victoria
instantly. She was 13 years old. It was a
normal day, bright and sunshiny and my life was going along as
normal. My daughter was a beautiful, intelligent and accomplished
person known for her extraordinary kindness and compassion for
others.
She was innocence and pure love blossoming
into a leader of others and she was building
the confidence that could have taken her
very, very far in this life. In one second she was here, in one
second she was not. The fifth anniversary of her death was just 2
days after the New York
tragedy.
Within a few months of her passing, I
joined a group called Compassionate Friends, which is a self-help
group for parents who have lost children. It was a very good move.
It is said that the
most profound loss a person can have is the
loss of a child - I can tell you that this is the truth. However,
for those who have not lost children, the most profound loss is the
one they have
experienced or are experiencing at the
present time.
Those of us in this group frequently lament
about how ill-equipped others who have
not experienced such pain and grief are in
dealing with it. Ministers are often the focus of such discussions
for example and we have often discussed how we can let others,
especially professionals, know how it really is - what helps and
sometimes, more importantly, what doesn't help.
This is the purpose of this story - this
Dialogue - to let my fellow psychologists know some things that in
the future will help them be able to help. It is based on my own
personal experiences as well as the numerous Compassionate Friends
who have come into my life. You have all heard or read about the
stages of grief. The work that was done in this area by pioneers
such as Elizabeth Kubler-Ross is very valuable in understanding the
emotions of grief. Some professionals may feel that they can help
people with grief because they have studied these stages and know
the sequence by heart. Throw it all away. People who have sustained
profound loss do not want to
hear about the stages of grief - it's
almost an insult. They do want to know that what they are feeling is
normal, that they are not "crazy", that others have felt or done the
same things.
There is no sequence of grief - it is a
constant, evolving journey with many diversions into emotional peaks
and valleys along the way.
It is a journey and it is never over. It is
true that at the time of the event you are in a state of shock
and numbness. In my case after a telephone
call, I made my way to the accident site. It was eerily quiet with
cars backed up in four different directions at the intersection, so
that I had to drive on the wrong side of the road to get there. When
I got to the scene I was no longer within myself, I must have
dissociated. I felt like I was observing everything as if I was in a
movie. The people in all the cars were watching me. I imagined they
were saying "that's the mother". I was aware that I was playing this
"role". I imagine that many of the relatives looking for loved ones
in New York
must have felt this way too.
At the hospital I was placed in a special
room - meant to be a comfort but cut off from others. It did allow
me to get out of the movie. What helped? Friends coming to be with
me. You need to hold and touch people - you need them to hold you
and just "be there" for you. What didn't help?
Waiting 1 ½ hours to be told whether my
children were alive or dead. I already knew in my heart and soul
that Maria-Victoria was gone from this life but to have a doctor
finally come in and say in a cool and dispassionate manner that
"your daughter is deceased" made me angry.
A simple "I'm so sorry", a touch on the
hand and some semblance of compassion would have endeared this
doctor to me for life. Why is that so hard to do?
We are blessed with this state of shock
that comes almost immediately after suffering a traumatic loss. It
allows us to do the things we have to do. For many of us this is
very, very important. I needed to make sure that Maria-Victoria had
a wonderful, up-lifting funeral service that told the world about
the wonderfulness of my little girl. I needed to write an obituary
that would touch the hearts of Atlanta. I needed to comfort her
teachers and students at her school, thereby comforting myself. I
needed to be there for the hundreds of people who came to show they
cared.
Some people criticized the news coverage in
New York of friends and relatives
showing flyers of their missing loved ones
saying it was exploitation. I spoke to them through my TV set saying
- "you just don't get it - they need to do this -they need to let
others know about the one they love - they need to feel like they
are doing something to take care of them."
What helped me so much in the initial weeks
after the accident were touches from the hearts of other people. I
savored all the cards, the incredible amount of food from
individuals and whole schools, letters and phone calls from people I
had never met who were touched by my daughter's story and the
physical presence of people I was close to. Such heartfelt gestures
give life when life has gone out of your existence.
There is a time when you have to go back to
work and start to live this new life. I was fortunate to have such a
wonderful, supportive staff that literally carried me through that
first year. Others are
not so fortunate. Some have to go back to
work just days after the funeral and are expected to perform as if
nothing has happened. When a traumatic loss has struck you, you are
amazed and perhaps a little bit angry that the world has gone on.
You say to yourself, "how can these normal things still go on - how
can people laugh - don't they know the world has ended?" You think
to yourself that you will never laugh again, that you will never
feel joy again - it's incomprehensible to think that you could.
During that first year (time will vary
among folks) you are literally "out of your mind". Believe it or
not, there is actually a "physical pain", usually in your
heart and chest area and all over your body at times,
experienced by many that is excruciating and you think will never go
away. Mine lasted about 2 months and then just floated away. It was
a relief to say goodbye to that constant
companion.
You are "out of your mind" because you
think about your loved one constantly - probably a million times a
day it certainly seems. That doesn't leave much room for
concentration and memory. Those who have experienced such loss need
to know that this is perfectly normal. It is perfectly normal to put
the iron in the refrigerator. At work if you don't have support, you
will certainly not be able to function like you used to. You may be
able to do some things on "automatic pilot" but this is not the time
to be making major decisions and you - and the business you work for
- need to give you leeway for your memory lapses and perhaps loss of
drive.
Every day is a struggle just to get up and
live. Every day you get up and live is an accomplishment. So be
supportive and tolerant - make it a point to know about these
cognitive
disturbances, help the person you are
helping to understand them. And - if you can - help their employers
to know what to expect and how to give support. There is no
timetable for grief. It is highly offensive to the grief- stricken
to hear things like, "you need to move on", or to receive messages
that you are expected to be back to normal and "over it" in a
certain time frame.
I once had a principal come up to me about
three months after Maria-Victoria died and say, "well, have you
gotten over the death of your lovely daughter?" I swear this is
true. My response was, rather curtly, " I will never get over it".
This kind-hearted man had no clue about how much that remark hurt.
Let me tell you that you never get over it.
You are a changed, different person from the one you were before the
death of your loved one. We don't want to get over it because that
suggests
that we can somehow let that love go. That
brings me to the dreaded "C" word. A word hated by the bereaved and
one especially pertinent to those people who have loved ones missing
in New York.
The dreaded C word "closure". I hate that
word. I am offended by that word. Most of the bereaved I know hate
it too. There is no such thing as closure - you never get over it
and quit expecting us to do it. People need to learn to say
something else to describe people who need to have something happen
before they can continue with their personal grief. Something like
"relief from uncertainty" is more like it.
There is usually a lot of support and
attention paid to the bereaved at the time of the loss and for a
short time afterward. But after a while that support fades and
contacts drop off. Many, if not all, of my Compassionate Friends
report that this is a time when you know who your real friends are.
Sometimes people don't know what to say and so avoid you. Especially
in cases where children have died, people avoid you because they
think it might be "contagious". If this most horrendous of
nightmares happens to you, it could happen to me. I don't want to
think about that so I'll stay away from you. You may be shaking your
head in disbelief, but it is true. Many find that family members are
the least helpful. They do not want to bring it up because they
think it will cause pain to you - but especially to them.
If you remember one thing from this story,
remember what is in this paragraph. The most precious words a person
who has lost a loved one can hear are their loved one's name. Say it
over and over again.
It will not bring pain - it has great
potential to bring joy and to heal. MARIA-VICTORIA, MARIA-VICTORIA -
hearing her name always lightens my heart. In the beginning, people
need to tell their story - over and over again.
Your job is to listen, to give a hug or
show that you feel for them. It was important for those
missing loved ones in New York or for those
who knew their loved one had died, to "tell their story". This is a
part of the grief process, and a way to validate the strength of
their continuing love
for their loved one. It is a way to honor
them and, most importantly, to assure that they will not be
forgotten. That is the greatest fear of those of us who have lost
our children (and probably for other bereaved persons as well). We
do not want our loved ones to be forgotten. You are doing the
bereaved a wonderful favor when you bring up their loved one's name
and when you reminisce about something that they did or something
special about them. It is a very, very special gift and so easy to
give.
There can come a time when the bereaved
person starts to refrain from bringing up their loved one's name or
talking about them because they are afraid of making the other
person uncomfortable. A lot of people don't know what to say and so
they say nothing. You quickly learn who you can trust and who you
can't to spill your heart to.
People are afraid that what they might say
will sound awkward or mistakenly think it will bring pain. This then
can be misinterpreted by the bereaved person as a sign that you
don't care. Never say "I know just how you feel" because you don't -
you have no idea.
Never say, " I don't know how you do it -
if it was me I'd just die".
My goodness, that implies that I must not
have loved my child enough because I didn't die. What helps? A hug
and saying "I think about you often" - Just a heartfelt hug - "I was
thinking about
Maria-Victoria today" - "I know this is a
hard time for you" - " I am so sorry".
I went to see a therapist for about a year
after Maria-Victoria died. What I liked about her the most was that
she told me at the beginning that she knew very little about dealing
with grief but felt
that she was going to learn a lot by our
time together. She did learn a lot and I got a chance to tell my
story, to process how my life had changed and to run through ideas
about how to redefine my
life and redefine my relationship with my
daughter. In essence, in the long term that is what we, as
psychologists, need to do to help others. When you have experienced
a traumatic loss you have to make a choice. You choose whether to
retreat from life, to give up on life and what you held dear, or to
grow from this horrendous experience. Making this choice is not
easy, but it is a choice.
You also have to redefine your relationship
with your loved one. You may not have a physical relationship
anymore but you can choose to always have a strong and loving
relationship. My feeling of connectedness with my daughter is very,
very strong. She is very much a part of my
life and will always be. I have redefined
my relationship with her and do the things I want and need to do to
keep our love and connection alive.
As you go on this grief journey, you do
whatever feels right to do. There are no rules. In the beginning I
would go to the cemetery and lay on a blanket and stroke the grass
over her grave as if it was her hair. Imagine the sight of that to
one that does not know. I still, after five years, have not washed
the clothes from her clothes hamper (I probably never will). Before
I moved, I would go into her bedroom at night, smell her sheets or
sleep in her bed. I talk to her aloud every day. These are all
perfectly normal things to do. As a psychologist, it is important to
validate to the bereaved person that anything they want to do that
brings them comfort is okay. We all have different ways of grieving
and we all need to respect these different ways.
I am a very different person from the one I
was before my daughter died. I think I'm a better person (a lot of
my friends think so too). What often comes out of tragedy is growth,
often spiritual. I and everyone I know in Compassionate Friends no
longer have any fear of death. Death is the door to where my
daughter is. When fear is gone (the worst that could happen, has
already happened), it is a very freeing experience. You are less
afraid of change, you are less
tolerant of arrogant, insensitive people or
of doing things that don't have meaning for you anymore and you put
your energy toward the things that are truly meaningful in this
world. That doesn't mean you don't go through periods of sadness and
despair and have to pull yourself up time and again - of course you
do -. You are not necessarily suffering from depression, but
profound sadness and there is a difference. When you are depressed
you don't want to do
anything and you don't grow. When you are
experiencing profound sadness, you still want to grow, to do things
that will make a difference; you often feel compelled to do so.
As psychologists, and as friends or
colleagues of those who have experienced a traumatic loss, we can
help by supporting them on their own personal journeys, not by
telling them where and when to go, but by being a friendly landmark
along the way. We help by realizing there is no destination, not
even an itinerary. At five years after my daughter's death, I
probably think about my daughter about 500 times a day, rather than
a million. Some would call that progress.
I call it evolution.
A few days ago after putting 5 heart
balloons and flowers on my daughter's grave, I found a card and
letter put there by one of her friends. What a gift to me and my
daughter. I close this story
with her words so that we can all remember
what really matters.
I thought I saw you dancing
but it was only the leaves in the wind
I thought I heard you laughing
but it was only the waves of the sea
I thought I felt you touch me
but it was only a moonlit dream...
but I know I felt you in my heart
because I miss you very much.
I love you
I met a girl about a year ago who when I
first saw her I thought it was you. I had to take a double glance
and every time since then, when I see her from a distance or run
into her I always think I see you! She favors you so much in
appearance but I'm sure she could never be as loving, good-hearted
and caring as you were. The angel ornament reminds me of you, always
caring and watching out for others! Miss you more and more each day!
Friends Forever.
Love Always,
Kristen
---------------------------------
The Compassionate Friends Atlanta Online Sharing ... for online
sharing and support
Go to the following link to join:
http://www.tcfatlanta.org/SharingList.html
If you want to share a message with the
group,The Compassionate Friends Atlanta Online Sharing, you can send it in an email to
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