Tag: grieving

5 Years Later

TeresaHunt 5 Comments

It’s been 5 years . . . .

The first time I saw a counselor after the accident she asked me what my goal was, what I wanted to achieve in counseling. The only answer I could give her was “I don’t want to be like a grieving mom I know. Her son died 5 years ago and she still acts like it was yesterday”.

5 years seemed so far away.

But here I am 5 years later and it went by in a flash.

And I understand now, I will always grieve the loss of my boys. Some days it will feel like it just happened yesterday. Other days it will feel like it was a lifetime ago. Some days the pain will be more than I can bear. Other days it will be a small flicker in the background of my life. But it will never go away.

It will always be with me, but it doesn’t have to define me.

That was my goal in the beginning of all this, to grieve the loss of my boys but not let the accident and the loss become my identity.

5 years later . . . I’m still working on it.

I will always grieve

7 Things NOT to Say to A Grieving Parent

TeresaHunt 2 Comments

Kindly callers hurt her, too, with the well-meant platitudes with which they strove to cover the nakedness of bereavement. – Anne’s House of Dreams by L. M. Montgomery

I first fell in love with Anne from Anne of Green Gables in 1989 when my family moved from Minnesota to Oregon. I was 14 years old and anticipating the move. The night before we left, my sisters and I stayed at my best friends house where we watched the Anne of Green Gables movies for the first time. I fell in love with Anne’s spunk and never ending chatter. However we were left with a cliffhanger. Gilbert was sick and dying but we couldn’t finish the end of the movie. I had to know what happened, so I read the books.

It’s interesting what you remember and don’t remember. After all these years all I remembered of Anne’s adult years was that Gilbert was able to get her dream house complete with a stream running through the yard. So imagine my surprise as I was reading through the books again to discover that Anne’s first child was stillborn. In the world created by L.M. Montgomery everything seemed happy and serene. Life was simple and pleasant. Sure the characters went through troubles, but nothing so terrible as child loss.

What Not to Say to Grieving Parents

It’s strange, but I found some measure of comfort in knowing that even in L.M. Montgomery’s day, people did not know how to handle grief. When people don’t know what to do or say, the platitudes they end up offering hurt so much more than they realize.

People sometimes think if they say the “right” thing they can help lessen or take away the pain. But in reality there are no words that can “cover the nakedness of bereavement”.

After the accident that claimed the lives of my only 2 children (you can read about it here), I heard my fair share of “well-meant platitudes”. Though I understood people were trying to help, the following words hurt and minimized my grief.

1) They’re in a better place

A kind older lady said this to me at the reception following the memorial service. I still remember how this statement was an emotional punch to the gut that had me physically take a step back. This statement completely misses the point of grief. It doesn’t matter where my children are. They are NOT with ME and I miss them. As long as they are gone I will be grieving.

2) How can I help? Let me know if I can do anything?

I know people say this out of a desire to be helpful, but really isn’t. My entire world had just imploded. I could barely breath. Getting dressed was an accomplishment of epic proportions. If that’s all I managed in a day, things were going good. I didn’t have a clue what I needed. And if I did know what I needed, I most likely didn’t care. Asking the bereaved person how you can help generates pressure for them to think about and give you ideas. If you truly want to help, here is a list of things others did for me that I found helpful and deeply appreciated.

3) Call me if you need to talk

 I had perfect strangers giving me their phone numbers. People I barely knew offering to listen. I even had someone set up a meeting for me to speak with a pastor I didn’t know, just because he too had lost a child. Again, I know people just wanted to help, but this wasn’t helpful. And in some cases it just made me mad.

Grief is an intense and intimate emotion. I wasn’t about to share my grief with strangers or acquaintances. I couldn’t share the intensity of what I was feeling with people I had no relationship with. I would share my grief with my family; friends and those I already had an established relationship with. I did not have the energy to build new relationships.

I would talk with the people who didn’t have to offer to be there for me, because I already knew they were.

4) I know what you are going through because my ________________________ died.

With this statement people are trying to find a way to connect to my grief. I get that. But there is nothing like the loss of a child. NOTHING. Our children represent the future. As parents we have dreams for our children as they grow. We worry over them, take care of them and guide them. Children are supposed to survive their parents. When a child dies this natural order is broken.

Child loss is not the same thing as losing your parent, step-parent, uncle or dog. I once heard that my Grandpa had said he’d lost his parents, a wife and a child and by far the worst was losing a child.

So PLEASE unless you have lost a child, never tell grieving parents you know how they feel.

5) You can have more children.

Shortly after the accident, I actually had someone tell me they were praying I would have another baby by the end of the year.

This statement implies that my children can be replaced. No child can ever be replaced. Each one has a unique personality and purpose in life. Whether or not more children are possible, my children are gone. And as long as they are gone, my grief will exist.

Child Loss has no end to grief.

6) This is a good time to reinvent yourself. (Or any version of “Its time to move on”)

Most of the time when people say things that are hurtful, I know they are trying to help and I let it go. But this statement was the one time I let the person know what I thought of what they had to say. I had seen the damage this kind of statement made in the lives of those around me.

People who are grieving a traumatic loss are not in a place to make major life decisions. The best advice I think I’d ever heard after dealing with a huge loss was “Don’t make any major life changes for a year”. It took me 2 years to voluntarily make any changes to my life. But when I did I knew it was the right time.

The problem with trying to make major life decisions or changes right after a traumatic loss is that we are still in shock. It takes a lot longer than people realize for this shock to wear off. It doesn’t go away after a few weeks, or even months. It can take a year or more. It took me longer because I went through a series of other losses after losing the boys. As one of my professors in college stated, “Loss begets more loss”.

Our society is in such a hurry with grief. But grief cannot be rushed. After experiencing a loss, individuals need to take the time to process that grief. It’s not a time to work on breaking bad habits, trying to start a new habit or a time to reinvent yourself. It’s a time to just breathe, cry, and adjust to a life without the loved one who was lost. And that takes time. A lot of time.

7) God won’t give you anymore than you can handle.

This statement. Sigh. I have a physical reaction to this statement every single time I hear it. I cannot smile at the well-meaning people who say it and pretend it’s ok, because I know they mean well. I have to say something, because this statement is simply not true. Nowhere in the Bible does God say “I won’t give you more than you can handle”. But God does PROMISE to be there for us in ALL THINGS.

I think this one needs a blog post all its own.

The next time you encounter someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one and you feel like you need to say something a simple “I’m so sorry” or “I’m sorry for your loss” is sufficient. It may feel inadequate, but it’s the kindest thing you can say.

7 Things NOT to Say to A Grieving Parent

Grief Lessons From a Kid Movie

TeresaHunt 2 Comments

A new kids movie came out a few weeks ago. As a rule I avoid kid movies, especially if I think it’s something my boys would have liked. But the new Disney/Pixar movie “Inside Out” peaked my interest, especially as a newly minted counselor. A kid movie that explores the emotions of our lives, I had to go see it.

It was a fantastic movie. My little counselor heart was excited about all the good lessons on emotion in this movie. There is so much I can pull out of the movie to help clients work through different things. But for this blog post I will try to stick to what the movie can teach us about grief.

WARNING: If you haven’t see the move and are planning to . . . . the rest of the blog post has spoilers.

The basic premise of the movie follows the story of Riley and her parent’s decision to move the family from Minnesota to San Francisco. The story is told through the characters that represent Riley’s different emotions: Joy, Anger, Disgust, Fear and Sadness. The emotion characters guide Riley through life from their Headquarters in her brain.

Up to the point where the movie starts Joy has been the dominant emotion in Riley’s life. But after the move to San Francisco Sadness, though she tries not to, begins taking over. Joy, instead of allowing Riley to feel sad over the move, tries to stop Sadness any way she can. At one point Joy relegates Sadness to a small section of Headquarters and tells her to “stay put”. Sadness was trying to express the grief Riley felt over leaving her life behind. But Joy wouldn’t allow it. Things eventually escalate and both Joy and Sadness get sucked out of Headquarters. Leaving Anger in charge.

Joy was so busy trying to stop Sadness they both ended up being “suppressed”. Generally when you suppress one emotion you suppress them all, even the good ones. When emotions are suppressed often all that’s left on the surface is anger.

As Joy and Sadness try to make their way back to Headquarters they run into Riley’s imaginary friend from childhood, Bing Bong. During one of their adventures Bing Bong loses his rocket wagon – the last tie he had to his life with Riley. Bing Bong sits down and starts to grieve the loss of the wagon. But Joy, who can’t allow any sadness, tries to “happy” him out of his grief.

This is so much like society. Everything has to be happy and good. After a certain amount of time others no longer tolerate grief. “Get on with your life”, “It’s time to move on”, “So and so would want you to be happy” become common phrases grieving people hear. But you cannot “happy” your way out of grief.

In the movie Sadness simply sat down next to Bing Bong and listened. As she sat with him, she validated his feelings and his right to feel sad. She talked about what he lost, why it was important and allowed him to cry. Only then did Bing Bong begin to feel better.

Sadness and grief must be felt and expressed. That’s how healing happens. This process cannot be rushed.

Through other events on their journey back to Headquarters Joy begins to understand the role Sadness plays in Riley’s life. Joy learns that Sadness is needed. For true joy to exist we need to feel the sadness in our lives. Because, only when we acknowledge our sadness and work through it can we experience joy.

Grief needs to be felt for healing to begin

By the end of the movie they make it back to Headquarters. Joy leads Sadness to the control board and allows her be in charge. For the first time since the move Riley fully feels the sadness she’s been fighting against. She finally talks to her parents and expresses how much she misses Minnesota. After also expressing their sadness over what they left behind, Riley’s parents pull her into a hug. Back in Headquarters Sadness reaches over and pulls Joy’s hand down to the controls where they both move the lever. It is at this moment in the movie Riley feels both Joy and Sadness at the same time. I cried.

One of the most surprising things I learned in my grief is that you can feel 2 opposite emotions at the same time. I still vividly remember the first time it happened to me. I was at the beach with my sister, her family and several friends. We were having a great time. But while I was happy and having fun, I was also at the same time sad and grieving. It was so weird to feel happy and sad at the same time.

I have felt this strange mix of emotions in my life many times since the accident. One of the things I learned early in my grief is that I can feel the depth of my grief and at the same time be happy. Or I can be having an amazing time with friends and its tinged with the sadness of grief. It’s a strange and wonderful feeling to be able to feel both grief and joy at the same time. It would not have been possible if I had ignored my grief. For it is only in allowing sadness to wash over us that we can eventually feel true Joy.

And for completely unrelated giggles I’d like to leave you with my favorite part of the movie. As Joy and Sadness are getting on the Train of Thought, Joy knocks over 2 boxes filled with stuff. One of the boxes is labeled “Facts” the other box is labeled “Opinion”. As the stuff inside each box spills all over the floor of the train car, Joy exclaims “Oh no, facts and opinions got all mixed up”. Bing Bong, as he is randomly throwing stuff back in the boxes says “Oh don’t worry that happens all the time”. I laughed so hard.

In my grief I was surprised to discover the truth of this statement

 

How to Survive Mother’s Day as a Grieving Mom

TeresaHunt 6 Comments

On Mother’s Day I can think of no mother more deserving than a mother that had to give one back.” ~ Erma Bombeck

This weekend is going to be an emotional rollercoaster ride for me. On Friday I will be graduating from graduate school. It will be a celebration of 2 ½ years of stress and hard work. I will have accomplished something I didn’t think I could. The only damper to my day will be the fact that my boys are not there to share it with me.

Then Sunday is Mother’s Day.

I dread the approach of Mother’s Day. For some reason this holiday is different than the others. I have figured out how to survive holidays and the boy’s birthdays. (You can read about it here). But Mother’s Day is different.

How do you survive an entire day dedicated to celebrating motherhood, when you don’t feel like a mother anymore? Don’t get me wrong. I’m a mom and I always will be. But I don’t FEEL like a mom. There is a certain level of worry you live with when your children are around. All moms’ I know question themselves. Am I doing this right? Am I a good mother? How can I be better? With my children gone, I no longer have that level of worry about my children. I no longer spend my days questioning if I’m doing motherhood right. My days are no longer ordered around my kid’s schedule. I have only myself to think about and worry about. I no longer FEEL like a mom.

I loved being a mom. I had so much fun joking around with my boys and dreaming of their futures. I couldn’t wait to see who they grew up to be. I loved silliness and the craziness of having boys. Their creativity and how they saw the world always astounded me. I loved the organization of making sure they got to where they needed to be and keeping the house picked up after their whirlwind way of playing with toys. I even enjoyed the worry, the fighting, and the annoying little things they did. Because that’s what being a mom is all about. I MISS being a mom.

All holidays point to the fact my children are gone. But Mother’s Day screams it.

So how do I survive the day dedicated to being a mom, without my children around to make me feel like a mom? I hide. I refuse to attend church on Mother’s Day. I stay off Facebook. It hurts to much to see the pictures and read the stories of what has been done for the mom’s, knowing that I will never again have that in my life.

Last week I joined a Facebook group for grieving parents who have lost a child or children and are now childless. Everyday since joining someone has posted the question “How do I survive Mother’s Day?” The responses range from beautiful to desperate. Some spend the day with family; others decorate their children’s graves. Some, like me, hide away from the world for the day.

There really is no right or wrong way to get through the day. As a grieving mom you do what you have to do to survive the day. The best way through these days is to have a plan. Plan out what you would like to do that day. If the plan works you’ll get through the day and survive. If the plan doesn’t work out that’s ok too, you will still survive the day. The idea is to have a plan that you know will get you through the day.

This year my plan is to hide. I will buy myself my favorite chocolate and a new movie. I will curl up on my couch, lose myself in a good movie and pretend the world doesn’t exist. I will do this because on this one day it hurts to much to try and so I shut down. I miss being a mom.

Mother's Day

Another Birthday Past

TeresaHunt 6 Comments

 

This blog post is late. The process of going through my oral boards for school took a lot out of me. (There is a blog post on this coming soon). As a result when Devin’s 14th birthday came around, I was still recovering. It took me a week and a half to feel like myself again. Now that I’m recovered (I think) I’m ready to start posting again. 🙂

Devin would have turned 14 on February 26th. I missed his 10th birthday . . . turning double digits. I missed his 13th birthday . . . becoming a teenager. Every time one of these days passes I remember what I’m missing.

Instead of another list of all the things I’ve missed, I thought I would share some memories with you.

Devin and I had our own special way of measuring his growth. Sure we had the standard marks on the wall, where every first and last day of school new marks were added for both boys. But Devin and I did something that was just for the two of us. We’d put our palms together and spread out our fingers. I could see how much he’d grown by how long his fingers were against mine. Today, his fingers would probably be longer than mine.

One night Devin and I were being silly. He was telling me the names of his fingers. Yes, he’d named his fingers. I wish I could remember the names of his thumb and forefinger. But I do remember the names of the last 3 fingers. Billy, Bob and Billy Bob. Every time he named off his fingers, I’d go into a fit of giggles. He kept repeating them, because I kept laughing. It was a fun game.

Devin would often do or say the funniest things. I used to say all the time “you never know what’s going to fall out of that kids mouth”. The other day my sister found an old Facebook post of mine from September of 2010. It was a conversation I’d had with Devin that I’d forgotten about. It made me laugh to remember.

Devin: “Mom you know how Adam named all the animals. Well who made all the words?”
Mom: “God made the words”
Devin: “I think it was Eve”

Such a smart, funny kid.

Because of the way my classes are structured, I was not able to get out of class on Devin’s birthday. This was the first time I was not able to take the day off from my responsibilities and spend it with my family. I knew with all the stress over orals the birthday might end up being harder than normal. Stress tends to exacerbate grief. The fact that I couldn’t take the day off concerned me a lot. I wasn’t sure how the day was going to go, or if I’d be able to deal with it.

My sister came up with the idea of the family coming to class for a visit on my break. I thought that was a good idea, so I asked a few of my classmates if they’d be ok with that. Everyone agreed, so the plan was set. My mom bought a 5 pound Hershey bar, in honor of Devin’s birthday, to share with everyone.

For Devin’s 6th birthday my sister bought him a 5 pound Hershey bar. The candy bar was almost as big as he was. I left it sitting out on the counter and all 4 of us would break off pieces to munch on. One  day after school Devin’s kindergarten teacher mentioned to me that he’d been a bit more hyper in class than normal. I knew immediately the cause was the giant Hershey bar. I guess he’d eaten more of it than I realized. Sneaky imp. 🙂

Devin B-day

We thought sharing a 5 pound Hershey bar with the class would be a great way to remember Devin on his birthday and celebrate the end of orals. My family arrived and introductions were made. The candy bar was broken up and shared. It was a nice way to spend Devin’s birthday.

It's harder than you think to break off a chunk of a 5 pound Hershey bar.
It’s harder than you think to break off a chunk of a 5 pound Hershey bar.

As I was driving home from class that night I started to feel weird about having my family come to class. I felt like I had unnecessarily dragged my class into my grief, and dragged my family to my school when they didn’t need to be there. In short, I felt foolish. Like I had made a big production of something that could have and should have remained small and private. It took me a few days to realize why I was feeling this way. I’ve progressed through my grief enough that I can handle these days without the need for a big production. For every birthday and accident day that has passed my family has gotten together to remember the boys with a special activity and dinner at one of the boy’s favorite restaurants. We’ve done balloon releases, lantern releases, launched rockets, worn silly bands, played with Dawson’s go cart, done light painting and we’ve even gone to a MythBusters display at OMSI in Portland. I knew that someday these activities would stop. And though I’m not sure we’ve reached that point, it’s nice to know I don’t NEED them anymore.

Hope

It’s Been 4 Years . . . .

TeresaHunt 3 Comments

Miss boys 2“You might be but one drop in a bigger ocean, but even that drop causes ripples which affect every other drop. ~ Sue Krebs

Today marks the 4-year anniversary of the accident that took the lives of my children and changed my life forever. Anniversary . . . . . . it really does not seem like the right word to use. To me an anniversary indicates a happy event, an event worth celebrating. Today is not about celebrating, it is about remembering.

It has been 4 years since I have seen my children. There are so many things I have missed in those 4 years.

I have missed having mountains of laundry to do.

I have missed breaking up fights.

I have missed navigating the messy bedroom just to tuck them in and say goodnight.

I have missed stepping on Legos. Yes . . . I do miss this!

I have missed the incessant questions.

I have missed repeating myself because they were not listening the first 40 times.

I have missed the bickering.

I have missed the back talk.

I have missed the “can’t keep it clean” house.

I have missed the creativity.

I have missed watching kid movies and tv shows.

I have missed reading stories at bedtime.

I have missed the laughter.

I have missed the joking and goofiness.

I have missed the craziness that having boys brings into your life.

I have missed their hugs.

I have missed touching them and having them touch me.

I have missed my boys.

The other day a friend asked, “If you could ask God one question what would it be?”

My answer to that question is simple. I would ask God to allow me to see the far reaching effect my life has had on other people. I want to know that what I am going through has meaning. I want to know that someone is living a better life because of what I have been asked to deal with.

I have friends tell me how their friends have been affected by my story. These are people I don’t know. I love hearing these stories, but I want to know more. I want to see the whole story of my life, the part that only God can see. I would love to see the part of my life that God can see, that kept him from stopping the accident from happening. I want to know and understand why I have to live the rest of my life without my boys. I want to see what God can see . . . . the ripple effect.

I know I will probably never be privy to this information this side of Heaven. But I sure hope that God allows me to see the ripple effect of my life when I get Home.

Ripple

Did Mary Grieve?

TeresaHunt 3 Comments

I had planned on posting a New Year type post this week. But alas life has gotten in the way.

As many of you know I am currently in graduate school working toward a Masters in Counseling. My hope is upon completing school I will be able to help others like me, who’ve watched their life fall apart. As part of my school’s program I have to pass an oral exam to graduate. I have to present a client case study to a panel of professors, and then defend my case study. This is a very involved process, and my deadline is rapidly approaching. As a result, throughout the month of January and most of February, I will be consumed with preparing my case study and doing the appropriate research. I would appreciate your prayers during this time.

To help relieve some of my stress and anxiety, I won’t be posting on the blog as much as I had intended during this time. As soon as my oral exam is over, I have many plans for this blog. So stick around because exciting things are coming.

So instead of writing the New Years post I’d planned on, I thought I would share something I posted on my photography blog in January of 2013. If you are interested in my photography you can check it out here.

Without further ado, I’d like to share a side of Mary, the mother of Jesus, that I’ve wondered about.

Originally posted January 2, 2013 on Teresa Hunt Photography

A few weeks ago I was listening to one of my favorite Christmas CD’s. A song titled “Still Her Little Child” came on. As I listened to the song I realized something . . . Mary, like myself and so many mothers I know, was a grieving mother. She watched her oldest son be tortured and put to death in the most horrific fashion. She had to bury her baby boy. For 3 horrible days she knew the unimaginable grief of loosing a child.

But Mary received a gift all grieving mothers can only dream of . . . . she got to see her son again. A mere 3 days after being buried, Jesus came back from the dead. What overwhelming joy and relief Mary must have felt.

However, several days later Mary lost her son again when he ascended into Heaven. And here is where I’d like to pose a question for your contemplation. Did Mary still grieve the loss of her son after he ascended to heaven? I think she might have. For even though she was able to see her son again, he was still gone. Even though she was able to see Jesus in his full glory, he was still gone. Never again in her earthly life would she be able to talk to, touch, hug or hear her son’s voice. In the end that’s all we grieving mothers want to do. We want to hold our children, to talk to them, to hear their voice, to smell their presence, to touch them and to have them touch us. We don’t cry and grieve for our children. We cry and grieve for the LOSS of our children . . . for what we no longer have. And that is why I think Mary grieved for her son until she joined him.

My thoughts on Mary, the mother of Jesus, being a grieving mother.