Judysnewsletter

National Office P.O. Box 3696, Oak Brook, IL 60522-3696; (630) 990-0010; www.compassionatefriends.org

Local-Aaron Pueschel 739-7843 email: dpues10098@aol.com or tdcc@mediaone.net

Volume 3, Issue 20 August 2001

The Compassionate Friends,

Visalia Chapter

The mission of The Compassionate Friends is to assist families toward the positive resolution of grief following the death of a child and to provide information to help others be supportive.

The Compassionate Friends is a national nonprofit, self-help support organization that offers friendship and understanding to families who are grieving the death of a child of any age, from any cause. There is no religious affiliation. There are no membership fees or dues, and all bereaved family members are welcome.

The secret of TCF's success is simple: As seasoned grievers reach out to the newly bereaved, energy that has been directed inward begins to flow outward and both are helped to heal.

* * *

Choosing Life

"It will never be the same. Never." As a bereaved parent, you have often heard or said these words to express grief’s profound feelings of sorrow and disorientation. Your life has suddenly taken an unexpected course that appears both uncharted and endless. Bewildered, you vainly search for pathways back to your former life, until you confront the reality that there is no way back. Your child is dead forever. It is then that you may say, "…never the same."

This is the aspect of grief that Simon Stephens calls "The Valley of the Shadow." It is that very long time between the death of your child and your reinvestment in life. Between. It is not supposed to be a permanent resting place. Although some people do take up residence in the valley, it is a transition from the death of your child

to life with renewed purpose.

The key to this transition is yourself. You must choose between life and the valley. You and only you can decide. And you must make that decision again and again, each day.

Giving in to the hopelessness of the valley is tempting.

Choosing to move on toward life requires a great deal of work. You must struggle with the pain of grief in order to resolve it. It is a daily struggle full of tears, anger, guilt and self-doubt, but it is the only alternative to surrendering yourself to the valley.

Little by little you choose to move on. Little by little you

progress toward the other side of the valley. It takes a very long time, far longer than your friends or relatives suspected. Far longer than you had believed – even prayed – that it would be. When one day you find yourself able to do more than choose merely to live but also how to live, you will know you are leaving the valley of the shadow. There will still be more work to do, more struggle and choosing. The valley, however, stretches behind rather than in front

of you.

When you have resolved your grief by reinvesting in life, you will be able to realize that nothing is ever "the same." Life is change. We would not have it be otherwise, for that is the valley of the shadow. Change has the promise of beginning and the excitement of discovery.

Life is never the same. Life is change. Choose life!

Marcia F. Alig

TCF, Mercer Area Chapter, New Jersey

* * * * *

Time is a very precious gift of God; so precious that it's only given to us moment by moment..............

* * * *

The Never Ending Journey
by Judy, used with permission

My "never-ending" journey began on the day my daughter died. Grieving your child is like a very long, frightening journey that you are forced to undertake, one that never really ends. The path of grief is filled with tears of sorrow, anger and regret. Your life is forever altered. I don't understand why things like this happen, we're not supposed to outlive our children. I have asked the question, "why" a million times in the last four years and still have not found the answer. All I know is that it's not fair, and I don't like it. But when your child dies you don't get that choice. You never in your worst nightmare imagine that it could ever happen to you. You cannot fathom even the idea that your child could ever die. It's something that only happens to other people, not to you or your family.

Her name was Ashleigh Nicole Bruner. She was 12 and a half years old, had long golden brown hair and big brown eyes, and had just begun her sixth grade year. She was brave, she was funny, and she could be exasperatingly stubborn! She also had a true gift of kindness and a special sweetness that touched everyone she met. There was an innocence about her, a gentler spirit, that was not of "this world". She was an incredible child. Although her stay on this earth was too brief, the impact she made on my life and the lives of all those who knew her lives on. I still do not want to imagine my life without her, but it goes on just the same.

Ashleigh became ill very suddenly from an extremely rare bacterial infection within her bloodstream called STSS/Streptococcal Toxic-Shock Syndrome. She was misdiagnosed with having a viral infection, or "flu". She complained of feeling "achy" and had very slight "flu" like symptoms, and because her sister had also been diagnosed and treated for the same viral infection, they thought she had it as well. Within four short days she was gone. We will never know how she contracted such an illness. It was completely undetectable to the doctors, as there were no real symptoms. I still cannot believe that this could happen. The shock is still there just as prevalent as it was on that horrible day four years ago.

Right after your child dies, even if the death was to be expected, you're in shock. You can't believe it, your mind simply will not let you. The pain is so intense you wonder why it doesn't kill you, and sometimes you wish it would. You can't imagine anyone living with this kind of pain. Your shock turns to denial, and you think "This can't possibly be happening, there has been a terrible mistake." You're so desperate to have your child back, living without her is does not seem to be an option. You make deals with God, you ask to trade places with her, you would do anything for this not to be happening, anything for it all to be erased. Then you realize that nothing you can do will bring her back. You are not in control. It's not up to you. You feel so utterly helpless. You cry in anguish until there are no tears left to cry. You scream out in anger and rage to the heavens above, and are left with an emptiness that is as deep as your soul. You dream of your child and you hold her in your arms and then you wake up and remember.

As time goes by after your child's death, you realize that you will never again be your old self. People expect you to be the same as you used to be and will expect you to get over it as quickly as possible, because it's easier for them, but that is not possible. That self was forever changed when your child died, a part of you died too. Nothing will ever be the same again. Who you will be now, how you will learn to live without your child in your life, will take a lot of time.

I have read and been told that you never get over a loss like this, anymore than you would get over the loss of a leg. Instead, you find ways to live your life despite it. The sun continues to rise each day, babies are born, children run and play, and somehow the world goes on as before. It doesn't seem as though it should, everything should have just stopped, but it didn't. You desperately continue to hold your child in your heart and in your mind because that's all you have left. You try to find people who you can talk to about your child, but it isn't easy because most will turn away from you. "It's just too hard" they say. You try keeping the lines of communication open with your family and the people that you love, but even this is difficult because you are in so much pain. There is nothing else, your grief consumes you. The pain and the emptiness are all that you can feel. The hopelessness of life without your child is all that you can see ahead. This journey has become never-ending.

Then one day you realize that in order to survive this "journey" you must put your energy into what's important, and let the rest go. You learn to be gentle with yourself. You let yourself feel whatever you feel and deal with it as it comes. You realize that there is no right or wrong way in which to grieve for your child. You get through the bad days because you've learned that they do end. The pain overwhelms you, but then it recedes. You are stronger than you ever knew, stronger than you ever wanted to be.

Now, after four years of this journey I can sometimes feel the other parts of my life. There are times when I can let myself laugh, and not feel guilty. I can think of something besides Ashleigh and the fact that she is not here and what I might have been able to do to save her. I can go out and do something that's just for fun-and sometimes even enjoy it! Sometimes I can even sleep all through the night. I can appreciate the beauty of this world; the ocean, the summer sun, a sunset, fall leaves. I find my joy in small pleasures now and try not to expect too much; like my flowers and my garden, a nice walk, a great tan, a good movie. Even another child's laughter.

They say that time in Heaven is compared to the "blink of an eye" for us on this earth. Sometimes it helps me to think of my daughter running ahead of me through a beautiful field of wildflowers and butterflies. So happy and completely caught up in what she is doing, that by the time she turns around to see if I'm behind her.....I will be.

If you are a parent who has lost a child to STSS, or if you can relate to anything that I have shared concerning the loss of a child, please write to me. I would appreciate hearing from you. There are many of us on this journey, many who are hurting. If through my experience I can help somebody else, maybe then I would feel that it wasn't all in vain. Perhaps if I can help another grieving parent I can begin to heal as well. My name is Judy, and my e-mail address is : "mailto:brunerjs@medt.com"

Please visit Ashleigh’s memorial at: http://www.medt.com/~brunerjs/mom's.html

* * * * *

Back to Top

If I have the stuff inside me to make a cocoon, maybe the stuff of butterflies is in there too…

there , too...........

WHEN: Thursday, August 16, 2001

(Third Thursday of the month)

WHERE: Grace Community Church

424 N. Lovers Lane, M2 Visalia

TIME: 7:00 PM – 9:00PM

Phone friends:

Jeanne Shannon –son by suicide 636-1958

Kay Wheeler-daughter automobile accident 561-4536

Gabby Campos-son accidental death 734-3069

Leslie Thomas-son ATV accident 564-1423

Aaron & Debby Pueschel-son-accidental fall tdcc@mediaone.net 739-7843
Should you notice any errors in this newsletter, please notify Debby at 739-7843. All errors will be corrected in the next newsletter! Thank you for your understanding.

August 11 TCF Booth, Visalia Mall 9am-12pm
September 20 Regular Chapter Meeting
October 18 Regular Chapter Meeting
November 15 Regular Chapter Meeting

It is always hard to say, "Welcome" to our new members, because we are truly sorry for the reason they are eligible for membership in The Compassionate Friends. However, we are glad you found the courage to attend your first meeting and we hope that you will find with us a safe place to do your healing and sharing. We want to extend a warm welcome to:

Jim & Parmie Jenkins, parents of Craig Allen Jenkins

3/29/72 – 5/16/01

Jean Shewey, mother of Craig Newman 10/6/45 - 6/12/99

Elsie Clifton, mother of Michael Clifton 11/26/47 - 3/28/01

Charles Dennis, father of Michelle Dennis 8/31/81 -2/12/00

Vanessa Collins, sister of Aaron Collins 5/7/82 – 2/10/01

To you attending your first meeting or receiving your first newsletter, we extend our hearts in understanding and regret for the reason you are joining. It is difficult attending your first TCF meeting. Feelings can be overwhelming, but we have all experienced them and know how important it is to take that first step. Give us a try. Please plan to attend two or three meetings before making any decision regarding TCF. We are here to help each other ... we need not walk alone in this journey.

CHAPTER NEEDS AND HELPS

We have several needs within the chapter. Since moving to our new location, there is more set up and taking down to do. If someone would be willing to be at the meeting room at 6:30 to help set up, please contact Aaron.
Be a newsletter sponsor. Send in a picture of your child with an article, poem or favorite story. Suggestion donations are $25.00 and are tax deductible.
Follow-up is another important factor in our chapter. If someone is willing to send out cards to new attendees, on our children’s birth and anniversary dates, or just be willing to contact by phone new members, please contact any of the phone friends. The more hands we have, the better!

If you would like to help Gayle and Kay with refreshments, please contact them. Thanks Gayle and Kay for getting those refreshments for each meeting!
Jeanne has lots of books still for check out! The books are at each meeting. Many have found great help in reading books written by other bereaved families. Check them out!!!

Several members have recommended grief counselors whom they have felt have helped walk this journey of

grief. Below are the names of three counselors in our area:

Beverly Anderson, MFT, Synchrony of Visalia, 635-4252

Sandra Bennett, LCSW, 738-0644

Paul Bennett, LCSW, 738-0644

If you would like to add to our list, please contact Debby at 739-7843 or at tdcc2000@earthlink.net

Grief Support Group meets the 2^nd and 4^th Tuesday of each month at Tulare Bethel Assembly of God, Room L7. 2516 N. M Please call Jeanne Shannon for further information at 636-1958.

Hospice of Tulare County offers three Support Groups: General Grief Support, Footsteps Children Support, and Coping With Grief 6 Week Class. For more information regarding date and time either of these grief support classes, contact Khay Hamilton at Hospice of Tulare County, 559-733-0642.

The Perinatal Loss Support Group meets the 1^st Wednesday of each month at Kaweah Delta District Hospital, room E107 from 6-8 PM. For further information, please contact Liz Pasillas-Mace, LCSW, at 624-2151.

Thought from a Parent

Who Lost an Older Child

Perhaps I had my child longer than you had yours, but

thirty-eight years does not seem long. Perhaps there are more

memories to hold in my heart, but I know yours are just as dear

to you as mine are to me, even if your memories are memories

of only one or two days. Your dreams for your child are gone.

So are mine. Never did I imagine that I would have to deal with

mv child’s death instead of him having to deal with mine. In

thirty-eight years there was time to give me a legacy of three

grandchildren. This is a very special blessing and one that I do

not take for granted. My mission is to sustain the relationship

with my three granddaughters who now live three thousand

miles away from me.

My child died from a terminal illness that is not one of the

"acceptable" diseases. My child died of alcohol and drug

addiction. The tools for remission of this disease are placed in

the hands of the person who has the disease. Even with the help

of four treatment centers, the recovery was not to be. One day

at a time, my recovery is taking place. The pain, after two and

one half years, has gone to a place where it can be tolerated.

My story and my age may be different from yours, but the

bottom line is the same: my child has gone to a place where I

cannot go, and I miss him so much. The pain of grief is still

there, but I am living life one-day-at-a-time, enriched because

my son came through my body into my life.

by Helen Godwin

TCF Orange Park, Jacksonville. Florida
From Aaron’s Desk

Playing The Blame Game

Don’t should on yourself. Anonymous. Or others. Aaron Pueschel

     Have you seen the movie, War Games? If you have, recall that final scene. The clock on the WOPR is ticking down to world annihilation. David, the teenage computer whiz, is locked into grim battle against Joshua, the computer. They are involved in a simulated game of Global Thermo Nuclear
Warfare. The game is imaginary but the consequences are deadly. David asks Joshua to engage in Tic Tac Toe. Will Joshua learn the lesson of Tic Tac Toe in time to save the world? The huge screens at NORAD go crazy with defense strategies and results, all the same in the end, world annihilation. Still the clock keeps ticking. The games whiz by like a blur on Joshua’s computer screen. The Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles are beginning to launch. Global holocaust is imminent! Zero hour hits!! A pause. Nothing happens. Joshua’s computer voice breaks the silence, "Strange game. The best move is not to play the game at all. How about a game of chess?" The world is saved. Joshua learned the winning strategy for Global Thermo Nuclear Warfare. Don’t play the game.
     After a son or daughter dies, surviving family members can be sucked into a game like Tic Tac Toe, or Global
Thermo Nuclear Warfare. So often its results are very tragic also. It is the Blame Game. Child loss leaves families
with overpowering feelings of helplessness, despair, anxiety, outrage, and hurt. The pain is so immense, family
members feel the need to strike out at each other. Placing blame is a normal reaction after child loss.
     While blaming others is a normal reaction, I am learning to use one word with a lot of caution. It is should. I think about stories from the Old West with the folklore on the shootouts. Think about it. So many of those shootouts ended in much bloodshed. There weren’t any winners.
     Now replace shoot with should. Homes of grieving families can be places of "shouldouts", where in place of
loaded guns, people point loaded fingers. Think of these words as bullets.
"You should have been a better father."
"You should have been a better mother."
     The loaded finger also creates self inflicted wounds. Ever say something like this, "I should have paid more attention to who Susie’s friends were," or, "I should have recognized the danger signals when Billy was reaching out for help." All of these reactions are to be expected.
     Whenever I have wanted to fix the blame for Carl’s death on someone, I have found it worthwhile to take a step back and analyze what fuels my desire to fix blame. Often my blame is fueled by anger. Anger, which is a normal response to a youngster’s passing. This starts to take a bit of the edge off.
     Also, I am so thankful that when I have been at my lowest, even my angriest, I have found trusted friends to talk to. These friends, some of whom are parents experienced in child loss, give me healthy perspectives to look at my feelings.
     What about when the finger of blame is pointed at me by someone else? Usually, it is someone I love deeply. What do I do? My immediate response is to load my finger, point, and shoot, or should back at them. Off course, that accomplishes absolutely nothing except to turn the circumstances into
something even more horrific. My late father-in-law would talk to me in his gentle, indirect way. Hold steady. Evaluate the situation. He would remind me that the person pointing the finger at me was hurting because they loved Carl too. He gave me a perspective on the other person’s feelings while validating my own feelings.
    Blame is not necessarily negative. Remember, the root of blame is often anger. Anger can be the catalyst for grieving families to bring about positive changes. It fuels the desire to
bring about something good from something bad. Anger was, for me, an ingredient in getting TCF started here in Visalia.
     There’s fixing the blame, and then there’s playing the Blame Game. Fixing the blame for a child’s death is
normal and later subsides. Playing the Blame Game is different. The winning strategy for the Blame Game is
simple. Don’t play it. Nobody wins. Everyone loses. Pause. Take a step back. Analyze what fuels the desire to place blame of your child’s death on someone or you. Find a trusted friend to talk to. You will be glad you did.

Be good to yourself. Aaron.

* * *

In the silence of my existence

I can remember your glory in your shining hair

I can remember your loving personality, your charm

I remember clearly I could see understanding in your beauty

All the silence of my existence make me know why I miss you girls so much at this time.

Barry Knapp, used with permission

ON NOT SAYING IT

I never got around to saying it.

There was always tomorrow,

When the time would be more appropriate.

Besides, you hated "embarrassment,"

Or was the embarrassed one really me?

Now I say it a lot,

To the sky, to your photo, to a gravestone.

Knowing facts say you cannot hear it,

But believing, inside me, you can.

When a child, a youth, then a young man,

I remember how you watched my face.

First as your god, then as your monitor,

Finally, I hope, as a friend.

But "I love you," as years went by,

Were words we kept bottled inside.

Now that you’ve left, the bottle overflows.

Until I, too, cross the Divide,

I have to believe you knew.

And forgave me for not saying it.

Leonard Ruppert

TCF, Atlanta, GA

What’s Your Handicap?

"What’s your handicap?" the golfer asked his partner. "My childhood," said his companion.

Some handicaps are physical, certain limitations placed on our bodies. Other handicaps are emotional, burdens of heartache from sad or abusive childhoods. Others may be dealing with current issues – perhaps facing a terminal illness or grieving an irreparable loss.

After losing my son, I found myself at a point where I simply could no longer stand the agony of waiting for my pain to disappear. I knew that all my life I would miss him, and I became absolutely despondent. There is no way out of this, I thought. I’m spending my life waiting for this pain to disappear so I can begin living my life again. But the pain never will disappear. And I’ll never begin living my life again. That’s when a gentle idea began to change my life.

I began to understand that I was living and working with a handicap. The loss would always be there. The pain and heartache would always be present. I could accept that, treat it as a handicap and within that framework go ahead and live my life once more. The moment I made that decision, my attitude and perspective changed. I was able to go on, able to move forward.

Many of us are living with handicaps. Some will change over time, but others won’t. If that’s the case, stop waiting for your handicap to disappear. Instead, decide to live with it. Work around it. Treat yourself with care, with gentleness. Allow yourself to feel and experience all the limitations and emotions of your present situation. Accept them. Let them be part of you, part of your experience. Despite living with a handicap, go ahead and treat yourself to life.

By Melodie Beattie, from her book,

Journey to the Heart

Looking Back on a Difficult Time

July 29th was the seventh anniversary of Chad's, death. I am writing to share my thoughts and actions, as I once again pondered life, without my third born son.

I knew, when I turned over the page of the calendar, that

July held tragic memories for our family, but wasn’t thinking "sad" because we have all reinvested in life and have once again felt joy and laughter. Therefore, it surprised me as the 29th grew closer and closer that feelings of fragility crept back into my body and my eyes burned with held back tears. I grew "grouchy" and found fault with my husband at the slightest infraction. I was constantly exhausted even though my schedule wasn't overly stressful. It wasn’t until one of my Compassionate Friends invited Roger and I to a movie with her and her husband, that I realized how hard I was fighting against what my body and subconscious was

experiencing.

We went to see a show whose plot allowed me, and half of the audience, to cry openly. It was there that I set free the deep feelings that I had been trying to stuff down all month. There in the dark, with my husband, my friend and her husband, I didn't have to hold back any more. As I cried for those dying on the screen, I cried for my son, cried for the children he didn’t have, for the fiancée he left behind, for his brothers, sister, and father who miss him so, and I cried for me and all mothers who have had sons and daughters die.

This experience allowed me to bring front and center what I had been holding inside all month. I decided to ask my prof for the day off, Roger decided to take the day off of work, and we made plans to take care of ourselves on Chad’s anniversary.

The days preceding the anniversary, I was contacted by

telephone and sent cards and gifts by my dear Compassionate Friends, and on July 29th my husband and I went to the cemetery and paid honor to our son through ritual, flowers, ‘nilla candles, and tears. We then drove to Camano Island and spent the day on the beach gazing out into the azure blue sound, remembering stories about him, and looking for heart shaped rocks to place at the foot of the tree we planted in his memory.

Why am I sharing this with you? Because I am so thankful that Compassionate Friends was recommended to me when my Chad died. It was there that I learned about the grief process, where I learned it was okay to cry and cry and cry. It was there that I was given the opportunity to process what I was thinking and feeling at chapter meetings, where I began remembering Chad, and all children, in ritual. It was at TCF meetings where I got permission to go ahead and take as long as I needed, where I got loving support to grieve my son, and where I met the people who have traveled these long seven years with me and whom I know will be there seven, no seventy years in the future. These are my Compassionate Friends, bereaved parents, like myself, like yourself who will go the extra mile for another mom or dad, who will be there for the duration, and who will never question my tears and say, "Gee, I thought you'd be over it by now."

My hope is that you, too, have developed your own support system of Compassionate Friends and others who will be there for you. If this is not the case, I invite you with the utmost sincerity to come to a TCF meeting and meet the parents who attend. I realize support groups are not for everyone, and I realize not everyone will bond with everyone. But I do know that The Compassionate Friends organization will be there for you as long as you desire and beyond.

Sue Anderson

TCF, Seattle, Washington

"…a bear wedged in great tightness."

"In a tape called, ‘To Touch a Grieving Heart’ there is a wonderful little reminder of the Winnie the Pooh story by A. A. Milne. You may recall that Winnie goes to visit Rabbit and eats too much honey. Coming out of Rabbit’s hole, he gets stuck tight – so tight he can’t even sigh. He asks his friends to stay with him, read him a story, and offer words of comfort…and thus to help ‘a bear wedged in great tightness.’

Notice that Pooh does not ask to be pulled out of the hole, he asks only for company so he is not alone. I think Grief is like being ‘a bear wedged in great tightness.’ And, while we cannot make the grief go away for each other, The Compassionate Friends starts and stops with the core idea that we will be there for each other; that ‘we need not walk alone.’ "

Opening remarks of Richard Edler’s keynote speech at the

1996 TCF National Conference Rich Edler, a bereaved parent, is a public speaker, seminar leader, and author. Currently a member of TCF’s national board, he co-founded the South Bay/Los Angeles TCF chapter. Rich is the author of two books, If I Knew Then What I Know Now, and Into The Valley and Out Again, an upbeat, revealing narrative which profiles both the depth of grief and the reaffirmation of life following the death of his son Mark.

* * *

The death of a child is a fire in the mind. The mind burns with alternatives that never come to pass, with fantasies of remarkable recuperations, with dreams of adult accomplishment. If we let this fire burn compassionately within us, the grief of the mind, the fantasies, the burning of the spirit, begin slowly to melt away and the child comes more into our heart. Our anguish can be used to open more fully, to enter as completely as we can into this final sharing. And then, as Rabindranath Tagore wrote in the final lines of his poem, The End, "Dear Auntie will come with presents and will ask,

‘Where is our baby, Sister?’ And Mother, you will tell her softly, ‘He is in the pupils of my eyes. He is in my bones and in my soul."‘

Steven Levine —From Who Dies

"There is a special sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love."
Washington Irving-Quote taken from Southern Piedmont Chapter, TCF Gastoria, NC

Pictures

I set them out. I put them away...! get them out and start to go through them filled with wonder that the daughter pictured there is no longer going to call or walk in the door or send a card filled with love and humor. Cards that brightened my day me laugh and always prompted me to call her and give her a big hug when she walked in the door.

Pictures. I get them out. I run my hand over her face lingering on her lips remembering "kissy face mom." And suddenly overcome with grief pull that picture to me and I kiss her and tell her how much I love her and how very much I miss her...and then I look again, and see her eyes— eyes that sparkled and twinkled with mischief though at times filled with deep reflection. She was a sensitive intuitive young woman who possessed wisdom and insight much beyond her years. She "left us" when she was only 24.

Pictures. At times I hate them. They show me what I don’t have. They bring back memories of a time when Jody was healthy and happy. A time when life with her was a joy. I am not yet to a place in my grief-healing where I can remember those times very well. I’m still filled with memories of her illness pain, and death; and I’m still at the place that I want all of those horrible memories to be a bad dream, a dream that I will wake from hearing Jody’s voice calling me to come outside so that we can take some. . .pictures.

Patty Fallon ~ Central Oregon TCF

IT WILL BE ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

WITHOUT YOU

Alice J. Wisler ~ TCF, Wake County NC

The sun will shine

roses bloom, geese fly

throughout the sky

stocks will trade,

the weatherman predict

politicians debate

it'll seem like another day

just a day, same 24 hours

not a special holiday

But to this mother

who will stand at the grave

lifting balloons into the sky

serving angelfood cupcakes

with rainbow icing

coated with tears

fluctuating between emotions:

the grief over death

the celebration over birth

For this mother

it will be yet

another birthday without you.

In Memory of Daniel

A Grief All My Own
By Carrie Pueschel
        I was a freshman at Point Loma Nazarene College when my brother, Carl, died. The news reached me hours after he had been found at the base of the radio tower.   Jim, a faculty member and family friend, stuck his head inside the door of my chemistry class as I waited for class to begin and motioned me outside. I was pleasantly surprised to see him, but my smile faded as I noticed the somber expression on his face. He took my hands in his as he told me of my brother’s death. I searched his face desperately waiting for his expression to break in to a grin as people will often do before they let you in on the joke, but there would be no punch line. I drew back instinctively and as I pulled away, Jim tightened his grip. I began shouting "No!" over and over until I became aware of myself once again and sunk into his hug. When I started to breathe more regularly Jim walked back into the classroom to get my backpack. I began to grow physically and emotionally numb as he led me down the stairs to his van. He asked me if I had a friend who could wait with me until I could get to the airport. I nodded indicating I did. He drove over to her classroom and I carefully looked in to see if I could find her. Fortunately she saw me and dismissed herself.
    When I got to the dorm, the RA (resident assistant) for my unit was already waiting for me. She and my friend, Heather, followed me to my room after an exchange of somber glances between them. Without much thought as to what I needed I packed a suitcase hoping I had everything I needed since I would be going home for the week. I was nearly finished packing when one of my roommates came into the room.   She heard the announcement in chapel and came to see how I was handling the news. I was suddenly aware of how closely I was being watched. It was as though I had taken up residence in a fishbowl. The girls sat silently watching me, not quite knowing what else to do. I could feel their unease at not knowing what to say; afraid of saying something that would cause me to have some sort of nervous breakdown right in front of them. I desperately wanted to be alone. It was as though I was a hostess at a boring party needing to entertain my guests, but I was afraid to act anything but somber. Would they think Carl meant nothing to me if I tried to strike up meaningless conversation? I felt an emptiness growing in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to crawl in bed and curl up against the wall. Yet, all I could do was sit uncomfortably while they watched. I was the elephant in the room. My brother had just died, yet no one could state the obvious: something horrible had just happened. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had experienced for the first time a reaction that was to become all to familiar to me.

After a draining week at home, I was unprepared to face my friends, roommates, and acquaintances at school. I could feel the tension as I walked into my unit. The girls watched cautiously as if waiting to see if it would be OK to approach me. I wanted to tell them about the week and about all of the painful memories my hometown triggered of my brother. Actually, I needed to talk about it, yet I knew it was better to keep it to myself. I don’t know how to explain it, but people react very strangely when they hear about someone’s death. I couldn’t count the frequency with which I was purposefully avoided or had someone quickly change the subject if I happened to mention my brother.   I soon discovered a positive reply when asked how I was doing avoided many uncomfortable situations. Most of the time people merely asked out of a sense of obligation, not concern. Few wanted to hear how my stomach turned when I walked up to his casket and saw the bruises, which ran down alongside his head and neck beneath the make up the mortician applied in an attempt to conceal them. Nor did they want to hear how my heart skipped a beat when I thought I caught a glimpse of Carl riding his skateboard down the street, only to have it break one more time when I realized it couldn’t have been him. They didn’t even want to hear how I found comfort in memories of him such as the time we were just little kids and had been sent to our rooms because somehow we had managed to irritate Dad. Unwilling to accept our punishment and allow our fun to come to an end we recorded ourselves giggling and set it behind our dad’s chair knowing we were sure to get a reaction. We laughed hysterically when our dad heard the recording and sprang from his chair to catch us out of our rooms.   I found I was truly alone in my grief aside from what I could share with my parents. I try not to get angry when I think of how others reacted to me in my grief. I, myself, reacted toward others the same way before I lost my brother. Yet, it was difficult to be forced to create a mask for the comfort of others when comfort was what I sought. Each day I "put on a happy face" and tried my best to appear together.
    A few weeks after I returned to school the other girls in the unit no longer tolerated my grief. I could sense their irritation when I failed to get out of bed as they prepared for class. No longer was it necessary to try to comfort me. They had accepted my brother’s death and were done feeling bad. It would not have been a great shock to learn they had forgotten I had a brother. I was forced to stuff my grief for the remainder of the semester. I cried only when I was sure I was alone and knew no one would be back for a while. I carefully watched what I said as not to let anything about my brother slip into conversation. I found even sharing a good memory of Carl could set off a series of uncomfortable events. The mere mention of his name would cause my listeners to freeze. Would I break down immediately and fall to pieces at his memory? I didn’t know at the time it would have been OK. No one had to understand my emotions, nor did anyone have to deal with them. I was the only one able and willing to carry myself through my grief. I had to realize I could only do what I could as I struggled with my grief and had to remind myself I would be able to do more as time passed and the impact of his death gradually became less painful. It was necessary for me to understand if I never got over his death I would also be all right as the death of a sibling is not something anyone ever truly gets over. Everyone deals with grief differently. If I were to only allow myself to grieve as much as other’s around me felt comfortable I would be quite miserable today.

It has been four years since his death and I continue to miss him. I still watch what I say to others, but I don’t worry so much about their reaction. I know what to expect from someone when they hear about Carl for the first time and have found ways to keep the evil of discomfort for all parties at a minimum. When Carl died I struggled with what my answer would be when someone asked if I had a sibling. I didn’t know how to answer. Would I say I did have a brother or would I say I had a brother? Neither answer seemed quite correct. Today I can answer the question. Carl was and always will be my brother. My memories of him are mine to share if I wish. My grief is also mine to deal with, as I need to.

It is not open to the criticism of others.

* * * * *

Whatever happens, do not lose hold of the two

Main ropes of life…….HOPE and FAITH…..

FROGS

To most people, frogs are just slimy creatures of nature, but to me, they are the "essence" of summers with Carl. I collect them now…much to the chagrin of my family! Really, though, they are the ones who keep my "frog" memory alive!

I love my gardening, and I never liked to use the pesticides to rid my garden of those unwelcome bugs that ate my tomatoes, peppers, and the like. Instead, I preferred the natural pesticide…FROGS! Lots of frogs! Green frogs, tree frogs, bull frogs….ALL frogs! I love to hear them croak their lullabies in the dark of night. I love to step out and watch them hop ever so clumsily through the grass to catch their fill! Oh yes, I love to catch them and see how much they have grown each year. I am not at all squeamish!

So, Carl and I would make the journey once or twice a summer to the ditch behind the house where the frogs lived! Each year I had to add to my collection of frogs to make certain that this year’s garden was protected from the ravages of those unwanted bugs!

Carl would get the bucket and we would march arm in arm to that ditch. I would point out where I wanted to go. He was my hero…he would slip and slop in the mud and "rescue" those frogs until the bottom of that bucket would be covered solid with God’s creatures!

He would take my prizes and dump them on the grass. I would laugh with delight…he would smile and walk away…leaving me to enjoy watching my frogs!

Carl, I really miss those times! I really miss you…I love you son!

Debby, Carl’s Mom

Love gifts are donations of any amount given by relatives or friends to honor one who is deceased. We are grateful to parents, grandparents, and others who, by their donations, memorialize children who have died. They allow us to offer resources (such as this newsletter, books, and pamphlets) to assist bereaved families. Love gifts are not required. They are very helpful to others in need. All are tax-deductible.

Karl John Silex BD 8-20-68 AD 8- 4-96

Son of John & Clara Silex

Leonard A. Whiteside BD 8- 6-61 AD 10-9-87

Son of Carol Whiteside

Kim Barlow BD 8-7-57 AD 3-28-99

Daughter of Helen Savage

Amy Lynn Meek BD 2-24-87 AD 8-16-00

Daughter of James & Roseanne Meek

Donald Roeben BD 2- 6-60 AD 8-24-78

Son of Helen Roeben

Benjamin Andrew Pedraza BD 5-24-92 AD 8-26-00

Son of Sidney & Pamela Pedraza

Ian McIlroy Busby BD 9-13-91 AD 8-30-96

Son of Bruce & Kathleen Busby

Grandson of Wayne & Isabelle King

Michelle Dennis BD 8-31-81 AD 2-12-00

Daughter of Charles & Laura Dennis

Anthony Lawerenzo Zotti BD 11-19-70 AD 7- 1-00

Son of John & Theresa Zotti

Joshua Keith Christensen-Griffiths

Son of Ann Marie Christensen and Bryan Griffiths

Tim Sorenson BD 10- 5-75 AD 7-5-93

Son of Dave & Sue Sorenson

Romjeet Kaw Toor BD 12-19-89 AD 7-15-00

Daughter of Harvinder Singh & Surjit Toor

Blu Keenan BD 7-20-75 AD 5-1-98

Son of Ron and Joyce Kellis

Vandita Mahanty BD 6-25-82 AD 7-21-93

Daughter of Satya and Manjula Mahanty

Joshua Lloyd Rose BD 7-24-76 AD 12- 9-95

Son of Bonnie Sue Rose

Brother of Derek Rose

Brandon Allan Orosco BD 4-27-88 AD 7-25-99

Son of Allan & Julie Orosco

Grandson of Larry and Marilyn Bamber

Cynthia Deniese Robinette BD 7-27-66 AD 3-17-98 Daughter of Dottie Robinette

Edward Eli Thomas BD 11-24-79 AD 6- 9-94

Son of Leslie Thomas

Kevin Michael Spencer Gill BD/AD 6-30-99

Amanda Ruthann Gill BD 5- 1-91 AD 5-22-96

Children of David and LaDon Gill Grandchildren of Judy Barnett

Michael Wade Barnett BD 1-22-63 AD 9-22-98

Son of Judy Barnett Brother of LaDon Gill

Anthony Michael Bumatay BD 5-14-80 AD 9-22-99

Son of Robert & Jeanne Bumatay

Richard Aaron Collins BD 5-17-82 AD 2-10-01

Son of Rick and Lisa Collins

Sister of Vanessa Collins

Scott Michael Hansen BD 10-16-84 AD 5-14-00

Son of Lori Langley

Kaylee Louise Watson BD 5-29-98 AD 2-12-98 Daughter of Mike & Lynn Watson

Mary Jessie Lopez BD 5-31-74 AD 1-10-00

Daughter of Rick & Freda Silva

Brian Bell BD 4-6-82 AD 10-31-97

Son of Bruce & Jeanne Shannon

John Warner Crites BD 2- 1-68 AD 4-10-98

Son of Gene & Margie Doherty

Rashar A. Brown BD 10-3-82 AD 4-10-98

Son of Jannie Brown

Marilyn Joan Sheldon BD/AD 4-13-50

Daughter of Jane Ewell

Jennifer Lynn Wheeler BD 4-14-66 AD 2- 2- 85 Daughter of Carl & Kay Wheeler

Timothy Matthew Mohs BD 4-15-72 AD 1-15-00 Son of James & Sheila Mohs

Jennifer Riley BD 4-22-79 AD 1-14-93 Daughter of Jack & Pam Riley

John Bowles BD 4-25-70 AD 12-31-91

Son of Bob Bowles

Dillon Joshua Staberg BD 10-19-98 AD 4-27-99 Son of Derik & Darcy Staberg

Alissa Marie Grandboise BD 1-24-85 AD 3- 6-87 Daughter of Karla Brauer

Jennie Bufanda BD 3-16-70 AD 9- 7-87

Daughter of Bob & Virginia Bufanda

Abelina Cruz-Hernandez-Mejia BD 1-28-97 AD 3-16-97 Daughter of Lorrane Sosa

Ron Ewell BD 3-31-38 AD

Son George Ewell

Mary Helen Lacy BD 2-21-83 AD 9-25-91

Daughter of Karen Lacy

Eduardo Sandoval BD 2-22-76 AD 1- 8-00

Son of Everardo & Lucia Sandoval

Todd Michael Connolly BD 4-21-64 AD 2-28-99 Son In Law of Delano & Kathryn Hampton

Brother in Law of Kathy Hampton/Herron

Sherry Denise Hampton/Connolly BD 11-3-63 AD 2-28-99

Daughter of Delano & Kathryn Hampton

Sister of Kathy Hampton/Herron

Kevin Ray Neil Hampton BD 6-10-78 AD 4-23-99

Son of Ken & Kathy Hampton/Herron Grandson of Delano & Kathryn Hampton

Lisa Lemons BD 11-18-65 AD 1- 3-84

Daughter of Barbara Griffith

Jennifer Burnias BD 9-15-86 AD 1- 7-96

Daughter of Ben & Josie Burnias

Rick Fitzgerald BD 11-25-58 AD 1-13-98

Son of Gayle Mosby

Carl Walter Pueschel BD 12-14-75 AD 1-19-96

Son of Aaron & Debby Pueschel Brother of Carrie Pueschel Grandson of Jane Ewell

Colleen Theresa King BD 11-30-62 AD 1-31-93 Daughter of Wayne & Isabelle King Sister of Kathleen Busby

Mark Anthony Campos BD 9-5-62 AD 11-30-98

Son of Frank & Gabby Campos

Christopher Whiteside BD 9-16-63 AD 9-16-63

Son of Carol Whiteside

Jeremiah G. Alvarado BD 11-21-81 AD 9-25-99

Son of Rene & Pauline Alvarado

Ray Jimenez BD 1-30-82 AD 12-13-00

Son of Refujio & Dora Jimenez

Wayde Jacob Stout BD/AD 3-4-97

Bryce Ryan Stout BD 2-11-00 AD 2-12-00

Sons of Craig & Heather Stout

Robert Gary Rogers BD 5-24-59 AD 4-13-01

Joan Ellen Hinckley BD 11-17-63 AD 5- 4-70

Children of Rusty Rogers/Slater

Sister of Lynda Rogers-Spannenberg

Julia Brook Pace BD 9-2-99 AD 5-19-01

Daughter of Troy & Karen Pace

Michael Clifton BD 11-26-47 AD 3-28-01

Son of Elsie Clifton

Craig Newman BD 10-6-45 AD 6-12-99

Son of Jean Shewey

Craig Allen Jenkins BD 3/29/72 AD 5/16/01

Son of Jim and Parmie Jenkins

We could never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world. Helen Keller