Will You Follow Your Heart?

By Monica Novak -

I was having breakfast with my friend Wendy on a recent Sunday morning when she told me this story.  On her way out of church that morning, she saw an older woman sitting in the pew crying.  It’s a large congregation, and Wendy didn’t know the woman, but something inside Wendy told her to stop.  She followed her heart and walked up to the woman to ask if she was okay and could she do anything for her.  The woman wiped her face and told Wendy that her 2-month-old granddaughter had just died, and she had to go help her son and daughter-in-law through the grueling process of making funeral arrangements.  She was waiting for the crowd to clear so nobody would see her face. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry this has happened.  How did she die?” Wendy asked, sitting down next to the woman.  “She had a heart defect and got through one surgery and was doing well.  She had gone home and gained weight, and we were hopeful that she was going to make it, and then she went downhill really fast,” answered the woman.

Wendy had been a NICU/special care nursery nurse, and had watched many families during this type of crisis, she told the woman.  But then she shared something more personal.  Wendy told the woman that she herself had lost four babies and that she understood the heartbreak. 

Wendy gave the woman the name and location for the local pregnancy and infant loss support group she had attended.  She also gave her home phone number and told the woman to have her daughter-in-law call Wendy anytime she needed someone to talk to, even if it was in the middle of the night.  And Wendy meant it.  Wendy asked the baby’s name, the names of her son and daughter-in-law, as well as the name of their living son, the baby’s brother.  She wrote them down and said she would pray for them.  Then Wendy hugged her and said goodbye. 

This story reminds me of the time I sat across from a woman in the café of my local Target store.  She was visibly distraught over something, and I wanted to approach her and ask her if she needed help.  I was waiting for her to make eye contact with me, to “invite” me to come over and talk, but she never did, so I stayed put.  After ten minutes, she got up and left.  My heart sank, for I hadn’t followed it’s urging that day.  I will never forget that woman and will always wonder if I could have helped her in some way, if perhaps I was “put” there for a reason.

I was no stranger to the outreach of a caring human being.  After my daughter Miranda was stillborn, I was deeply grieving and struggled with the decision to return to work.  While I was at home on maternity leave, I received this unexpected letter from a co-worker:

July 7, 1995

Dear Monica,

I don’t believe we have met yet; however, we spoke for quite awhile a couple of months ago when you interviewed me for the company newsletter.  I remember our phone conversation well and have been looking forward to meeting you ever since.  I am writing today to express my deepest sympathies to you and your family in the loss of your daughter, Miranda.  It was only this last Friday that I learned of the tragedy that has come to you.

We spoke at length the day you called, but particularly about children and the excitement felt when expecting a new one to the family.  I felt that maternal bond that comes from mothers/expectant mothers talking.  Today I am writing because of another bond felt-that of experiencing tragic loss.  Two years ago on July 2^nd, my father and 16-year-old brother (13 years my junior) died in a weather-related car accident.  It was unexpected and it was unwelcome, as is your loss, and although I have felt great pain and emptiness at no longer having them with me, I can only imagine the emptiness of losing a child-and I know I can never fully understand.  In our department is a mom who lost her four-month-old child to SIDS.  I did not know her at the time of her loss and although the losses and experiences are different, we can take comfort in each other; listening perhaps a little more closely, a little more appreciatively, than others who have not experienced sudden and tragic death.

I have no great words of wisdom and I fear all too few to comfort.  One thing I have read and do know in my heart to be true-All life has purpose.  Miranda’s life within you had purpose, and I know she feels your love.  I hope that we will meet, and I hope that we can talk and perhaps draw some small comfort from each other.

My thoughts and prayers are with you, your family, and especially with Miranda.

Lynne Schwartz

At the time of our phone interview, Lynne had two little girls and I was six months pregnant with Miranda, so our conversation had naturally turned to motherhood.  I had hoped to meet her, but not under these circumstances.  I later made the decision to return to work, in large part because of Lynne reaching out to me.  We quickly became close friends, often spending our lunch hour together, sharing life stories and struggles with grief. 

Lynne and I had worked at the headquarters for a large corporation, and of all the people I could have interviewed for that company newsletter, why had I been connected with her?  Coincidence?  I don’t think so.  Lynne was “put” in my life at just the right moment through that interview.  She followed her heart when she wrote me that letter.  And I followed my heart when I decided to go back to work, making a beeline for her department (and a big hug!) just minutes after I returned that first day after maternity leave. 

Of all the people who could have seen the crying woman in that crowded church, why was it Wendy who noticed?  Coincidence?  No, I don’t think so.  Wendy was “put” in that woman’s path because she was the perfect person to console her.  Wendy followed her heart when she stopped to offer help.  And the woman followed her heart when she opened up and shared her pain with Wendy.

Have you ever heard the saying “People are God’s hands here on Earth?”  We’re put in each other’s lives at just the right moment, in just the right place.  Perhaps it’s the orchestration of angels.  However you want to explain it, and whatever you want to call it, it’s all around you if you’ll pay attention.  But sometimes it’s up to you to follow your heart and offer a kind word or a gentle touch.  And sometimes it’s up to you to follow your heart and accept it.  The next time you’re put in a situation like this, will you choose to follow your heart? 

Portions of this article were excerpted from The Good Grief Club: A True Story About the Power of Friendship and French Toast.

Monica Novak is the author of The Good Grief Club, a memoir about her friendships with six other women that carried them through the ups and downs of grief following the loss of their babies in miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death.  She also serves as editor of Open to Hope’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss page at www.opentohopepregnancyloss.com .  For more information about her book, and for pregnancy loss and infant death resources, please visit her website at www.thegoodgriefclub.com or e-mail her at monica@thegoodgriefclub.com.

‘Grief is an Illness’ and Other Myths Surrounding Loss

By David Daniels, M.D. -

Destructive myths abound concerning the loss and grief process. First, contrary to some views, there is no one “right” way to die or grieve; our personality type makes a difference. Some of us go in peace and some screaming.

Many people don’t go through all the steps in the dying process outlined by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross (On Death and Dying) or in the order she states. She lists in order: shock; denial; anger; bargaining; depression; and acceptance/resignation. By bargaining, she means asking for a favor or another chance, often based on the promise of good behavior. Depression is not inevitable, and some people don’t feel angry.

With loving care and the receptive awareness and acceptance that go with presence, many people realize that life is each day, that wholeness is the goal, not postponing death. We can heal the heart while the body is dying.

There are myths about the grieving process as well. The main ones are that grief is an illness, something to get better from, and that you grieve first and then come back to live life as though grief and life are linear processes.

In truth, grief is a natural process. It lets us know that we care/love. The natural sadness of grief often comes in waves, unexpectedly. Trying not to grieve often causes persistent distress and even depression.

The natural process involves leaning into pain, not away from it and releasing through the pain into love and life in each moment. Life and grief go hand in hand in a natural co-existence. These realizations, when truly lived, make both the death and grief process transformative rather than transfixing. These best or healthy principles about the dying and the grief processes have been honored in both hospice and Anamcara (soul friend) care that goes back over 1000 years.

Dr. David Daniels, MD is clinical professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Stanford Medical School, a leading developer of the Enneagram system of nine personality styles, and co-author of The Essential Enneagram (Harper Collins). 

Growing Together

By Chuck and Cathi Lammert -

Over the many years of working with bereaved parents, my husband, Chuck and I have had many questions asked of us about coping and growing together as a couple after the loss of one’s baby(ies). Interestingly, when we were running support groups, many women in the group would line up to ask Chuck more questions about their partner’s issues than their own dealings with the loss. It is common in relationships to have a need to understand and attempt to fix the other person. One of the biggest worries after the death of a baby is the fear of separation or divorce. I can honestly say those couples we supported who truly worked on their grief issues were less likely to face this challenge.

Following are some suggestions for dealing with your own issues, and solid advice for a couple’s dealings on this difficult journey. Chuck and I hope that by sharing these coping strategies, we might help your relationship not only survive this tragedy, but become stronger and happier.

• Your relationship as a couple is the most important relationship. Let it take precedence over all others.

• When a baby dies, the grief affects both of you at the same time. Other stresses in a relationship usually do not impact both individuals simultaneously. Therefore, your closest support is not always able to respond to you because he/she is trying to cope with his/her own grief.

• Each person in the relationship will grieve in individual ways. Learning to understand your partner’s ways may take some time and may be difficult.

• Sometimes words are not needed; just your listening ear may help.

• Difficulties may arise in the best of relationships. This may be the first time you may struggle with major differences of opinions. Keep working at communicating your emotional and physical needs.

• Your partner does not have to be your sole supporter. It is OK to share with someone close to you or a support group during this difficult time.

• Reading bereavement materials may help validate your feelings. In addition, you can point out in your reading, your parallel feelings to your partner. It is also a great source to initiate a discussion.

• It is OK to reach out for professional help, it is not a sign of weakness.

• There may be stresses on your sexual relationship. Communicate your intimate feelings openly. Remember, human touch and hugs can be healing.

• Each of you may need some privacy with your feelings. Respect and give each other that space.

• You may feel differently about the choices regarding memorializing your child. Talk about your differences and try to work out a compromise.

• Each of you experienced the death of your baby but you may have had different hopes and dreams for your baby. Sharing your lost dreams can give you some insight into each other’s feelings.

• You are not the same person you were before your baby died. It may take time to accept and understand the new person.

• Each of you will search for a meaning of your loss; one or both may turn to faith or spirituality, one or both may not.

• Your baby has given you many gifts, exploring those gifts may warm your heart. Your priorities in life may change for the better.

• It is okay to enjoy life again. Your baby does not expect you to be sad all of the time. Sharing laughter and tears together helps you to heal. Search for some relaxing things to do; it may help give you a new perspective.

• This is a difficult time for both of you. Remember that if your relationship was secure prior to your loss, it can become a deeper relationship during and after your healing.

Cathi Lammert, R.N., is Executive Director of the National Office of SHARE Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support, Inc. www.nationalshare.org.  As a bereaved parent, Cathi combines her personal experience with her education and professional background as an obstetrical nurse. Her son, Christopher Michael lived just 4 days and died due to Hydrops Fetalis, a complication of Rh sensitization.  Cathi was a guest on the radio show Healing the Grieving Heart with Dr. Gloria & Dr. Heidi Horsley, to discuss Finding Help and Hope After Pregnancy Loss.  To hear Cathi being interviewed on this show, click on the following link:  www.voiceamericapd.com/health/010157/horsley011509.mp3 

For more information, you can e-mail Cathi at:  clammert@nationalshare.org

A Stillborn Baby and the Fathers in Her Life

By Monica Novak -

When I was a child, I prided myself on making the best homemade cards to show my parents how important they were to me.  Father’s Day was probably the Big Kahuna of cardmaking for me because in the eyes of this little girl, Daddy was king.  He was the one whose side I sat by for all those workbench projects, eagerly waiting to hand over a tool.  And he was the one whose shoulder I cried on during the disappointments and heartbreaks of life.  Somehow, Dad was always able to make it feel better and bring a smile to my face.

But 1995 would demand something different from all the fathers in my life.  Just one day after a large family Father’s Day celebration which included my husband, Al-the father of our 2-year-old and another baby due that same week-my father, Terry, and my grandfather, “Papa”, our daughter Miranda was delivered stillborn, suddenly throwing the order of life upside down.  How would these men respond to something so tragic and so completely out of their control?

In the hours surrounding the news of our baby’s in-utero death and her delivery, Al and I clung to each other sobbing and saying goodbye to Miranda.  I had never seen him cry before and have never seen him cry since her memorial service held four days later.  Although I carried her for nine months, I knew he loved her just as deeply as I did, writing this poem for Alex, our 2-year-old daughter, (something I had never known him to do) as one of the ways he struggled to come to terms with what was happening.

Usually when I walk into a room, everyone calls my name and wants to play.

            Not today.

            Everyone is sad.

Why is everyone so sad?

Did everyone get an “owie”?

            Or maybe they have to go to bed early.

            Now, that is sad.

Mommy is in a funny bed and will not hold me.

            She’s not talking very loud.

            She’s sad.

                        Why is everyone so sad?

I woke up today at Grandma & Grandpa’s house.

            That was nice, but why am I here?

            They’re sad.

Why is everyone so sad?

Daddy holds me extra tight and kisses me a lot.

            His tears fall into my hair.

            He is sad.

Why is everyone so sad?

Mommy’s tummy is not big anymore.

            Where’s the baby she said was in there?

            Now I’m sad.

I guess it’s okay to be sad.

My father and mother were there with me in the hospital at a critical moment as I made the difficult decision to ask for Miranda’s body to be brought to me again.  “I really miss her.  I didn’t get to spend enough time with her,” I cried.  “Why don’t you call Candy to bring her up?” Dad said.  “This might be your last chance.  We’ll be here with you.”

A few minutes later, nurse Candy came in pushing a bassinet.  Trembling, I watched the small round figure move towards me, wrapped in a receiving blanket and wearing a tiny white hat with a pink ball on top, just like the one Alex wore the day she was born.  She warned me that Miranda was still cold, but would warm up a bit.  She carefully picked her up, laid her in my arms and then slipped out of the room. 

“Oh, my poor baby.  Why couldn’t you have held on a little longer?” I asked her, rocking back and forth.  My mom and dad sat on each side of my bed, wrapping their arms around me and Miranda.  “It hurts so much,” I cried out loud.  My dad hugged me tighter.  “I wish I could take the hurt away, but I can’t, so I’ll just cry with you,” he said in my ear.

My Papa, always a source of upliftment and joy, was there for me at the memorial service with a smile on his face, one of his special hugs, and a twinkle in his blue eyes.  After the service, as we walked down the stairs and headed for our cars, I was unaware that my 89-year-old grandfather had walked out behind me, crying uncontrollably.  I had never seen Papa cry and I suppose he wanted to keep it that way.

Papa was a veteran of this thing called death.  His mother died when he was six, he lived through the Great Depression, countless wars, and at his age, had buried enough family and friends to fill a cemetery; attending a funeral was a weekly event for him, yet here he was sobbing for a little baby girl he’d never laid eyes on.

Miranda would be turning fourteen this June 20^th, one day before Father’s Day.  Through the years, these three fathers haven’t talked about her as much as I, my daughters, and the women in my life have, but I know they hold her in their hearts.

Every year when we would sing Happy Birthday to Miranda with our three daughters, I never really knew what Al was thinking or feeling as his face intently watched the girls, but suspected he was silently communing with his fourth daughter who never got to call him Daddy or make him a Father’s Day card.

Then, a few years ago I came across a copy of a letter Al had written to a group of men he had just befriended on a Christian men’s retreat.  He talked about losing his daughter Miranda, and how he never doubted that God was with him during that time, and that somehow he kept his faith.  He felt that he was being called to be a strong-willed man who could offer comfort to others in need.  I think he was, in his own way, acknowledging that Miranda had helped her Dad to grow and realize what he was capable of.

Sometime shortly after Miranda’s death, my dad put together a framed copy of a quote he had read in When Hello Means Goodbye, the booklet I was given in the hospital.  Amidst the photos on his desk of all his grandkids sits a black 8×10 framed print that reads:

Miranda Blair Novak

June 20^th 1995

Hold Close These Moments For We Shall Always Live By Remembering

He later told me that he realized early on he could not let this little girl get out of his mind and has looked at her name every day for fourteen years.  Just this weekend it occurred to him to ask me for her picture so his collection of the grandkid photos would be complete.

Two years after Miranda died, my Papa made his transition from this life.  Since then, several spiritual teachers have told me and my mother on separate occasions that they see a man fitting the description of my Papa holding hands with a young brown-haired girl wearing a dress.  My mother has had the same dream about Papa and Miranda.  And in both the visions and the dreams, the two are smiling and dancing joyfully.

Though Miranda’s physical presence was here for but a moment, the spirit of a daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter lives on in the hearts of the dads who love her, and through them makes this world a better place.

Portions of this article were excerpted from The Good Grief Club: A True Story About the Power of Friendship and French Toast.

Monica Novak is the author of The Good Grief Club, a memoir about her friendships with six other women that carried them through the ups and downs of grief following the loss of their babies in miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death.  She also serves as editor of Open to Hope’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss page at www.opentohopepregnancyloss.com .  For more information about her book, and for pregnancy loss and infant death resources, please visit her website at www.thegoodgriefclub.com or e-mail her at monica@thegoodgriefclub.com.

Blogger’s Baby Hoax Stemmed From Real-Life Grief and Loss

By Monica Novak -

As I walked into the house Friday morning, my husband, Al, handed me the front page of the Chicago Tribune.  “I think you should read this,” he said.  The headline story read “Blogger’s baby a hoax.”  An unmarried Chicago suburban woman named Beccah, also known as “April’s mom”, had been blogging for two months about her pregnancy with a terminally ill baby, gaining support from thousands of people nationwide who encouraged her to continue the pregnancy.  By the time Beccah claimed to have given birth at home to a girl named April Rose who died hours later, even posting a photo of her alleged baby wrapped in a white blanket, her blogsite had one million hits.  The photo tipped people off.  The “baby” was actually a lifelike doll, and followers who recognized the doll realized the truth, which Beccah later admitted.

There was no baby.  At least not this time.  But as Beccah apologized and tried to explain her actions, she confided that she had indeed lost a son shortly after birth in 2005.  Her blog, she said, was in part an attempt to help her deal with that loss.

The personal irony of the story’s timing was not lost on me.  I had just come from Advocate Good Samaritan Hospital where I had been invited to speak before a national nursing review board about the community outreach of the hospital’s Share pregnancy and infant loss support program.  When my daughter, Miranda, was stillborn there 14 years earlier, we were given immediate support-physical, emotional, and spiritual-helping us to say hello and goodbye to our baby.  After we went home, the Share program walked alongside us on the grief journey by way of support group meetings, memorial services, and personal one-on-one counseling when needed. 

Those services are provided free of charge to anyone in the community, regardless of where you delivered your baby.  Hospitals, churches, and communities all over the United States offer Share or similar support programs.  For those who don’t have a group in their immediate area, help is available by phone or online from national organizations like Share, Compassionate Friends, Miss Foundation, and many others.

Beccah’s fabricated story greatly angered her followers who had formed an emotional connection to her.  But I feel like the real victim here is Beccah.  I’m not excusing her actions, but I can’t help but feel a certain amount of sympathy and compassion for a mother who experienced the death of her son and four years later still seems to be struggling to come to terms with her loss.  I can’t help but wonder, did she hold her son, name him, get a photo of him?  Did she have any emotional support in the hospital or at home in the days, months, and years that followed?  If the answers to those questions are no, how might this story have been different if the answers to those questions had been yes?

Monica Novak is the author of The Good Grief Club, a memoir about her friendships with six other women that carried them through the ups and downs of grief following the loss of their babies in miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death.  She also serves as editor of Open to Hope’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss page.  For more information about her book, and for pregnancy loss and infant death resources, please visit her website at www.thegoodgriefclub.com or e-mail her at monica@thegoodgriefclub.com.

Finding Peace and Light After Loss with Guests Kim McLean and Pamela Prime

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, May 14, 2009

Listen to radio show archive: MP3 Link

First  Guest: Kim McLean is a mainstream artist whose music is used often for comfort and hope of the bereaved.  Although that was not her initial intention, people have sought her out because of the healing quality of her songs and vocal presentation filled with inspiring music.

Second Guest: Pamela Prime is a mother, grandmother, spiritual director and author of When the Moon is Dark We Can See the Stars.  She has survived the loss of two children, including an infant daughter to SIDS, and a divorce.  Through it all she has found peace and light deep within.

Listen to radio show archive: MP3 Link

Welcome to My New Column and First Posting

Dear Friends,

Welcome to the first post of my new weekly column, A Mother’s Thoughts. I’ll be sharing stories from my own experience, stories told to me by others, and any topics I come across that are relevant to pregnancy loss and infant death. I welcome your comments, questions, and your own personal experiences, for it is in sharing that we find healing and meaning in our own lives.  Blessings, Monica

 

Choosing to Live

By Monica Novak

Three weeks after our daughter Miranda was stillborn, shattering my Marsha-Brady-like-existence, my husband Al and I attended a Share pregnancy and infant loss support group meeting. I came home that night with a book from the lending library called Dear Parents. It was a collection of letters written by real-life bereaved parents to poor souls like me. I sat in my bed crying, page after page, but when I finished reading, I realized that for the first time since Miranda’s death, I felt a thread of hope weaving its way through my soul. These parents, and the “veteran” members of the support group, gave me an inkling of belief in the idea that I might one day actually be capable of happiness again.

Well, here I am fourteen years later writing to tell you the same thing. I can’t pinpoint one moment in time when I realized I had become happy again, or even when I was no longer mad as hell at the unfairness of losing my baby. It was a gradual process, a journey, made possible in large part by the friendships I discovered in six other women from my Share group. Together, we laughed and cried (often over French toast and beer), got pissed off, got pregnant again, held cemetery picnics, held Walks to Remember. What we were doing, although we didn’t realize it then, was making conscious choices to keep living life. We were telling the universe, “we aren’t done yet, we aren’t going to let this break us, our babies’ lives must have meaning, and we’re going to figure out how to absorb them into who we are now becoming.”

The Good Grief Club is the book I wrote to share our story with you. For Dawn, Beth, Heidi, Darlene, Tracy, Wendy and me-in the wake of the babies we lost, in the face of the babies who were yet to come-life went on. It can for you, too. But you must choose.

Monica Novak is the author of The Good Grief Club and the editor of Open to Hope’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss page (www.opentohopepregnancyloss.com). Visit her website at www.thegoodgriefclub.com or e-mail her at monica@thegoodgriefclub.com.

GRIEF SUPPORT 101: How to Help a Bereaved Friend or Loved One

By Fran Dorf -

Thirty years after her son’s death, my friend still smarts when she remembers all the people who pointed out how lucky she was to have two other children. Another friend, whose brother recently died, grumbles that everyone keeps telling her it will get better with time. Another, whom I originally met in a grief support group, for years avoided anyone who hadn’t also lost a child. Having received my share of insensitive, even hurtful, comments after I lost my son, Michael, thirteen years ago, I certainly understand. Why do people so often say and do the wrong thing? And why do the bereaved often feel stabbed by well-intentioned comments that would normally roll right off our backs?

For all the violence and death Americans see in our “entertainment,” we want our real pain shrink-wrapped, bloodless, and over fast. Unfortunately, there is no quick fix to alleviate the volatile, long-lasting, often ugly emotional stew that is grief; no magic potion to lessen the pain, despair, resentment, jealousy, shock, guilt, anger, numbness, ambivalence, bitterness, and anxiety. Let’s face it, grief can be messy. There can be appetite, sleep, and concentration issues; feelings of isolation and rejection; even fear of going crazy or losing control. All this makes most people uncomfortable.

If you want to comfort a grieving friend or relative, your primary task is to validate his/her feelings. Don’t say anything that minimizes those feelings-which, in effect, de-legitimizes them.

WHAT NOT TO DO

I’ve found that de-legitimizers can be divided into six categories:

Babblers: These people chatter on about the weather, a friend who had a heart attack, and so on. The bereaved can’t be distracted. Ignoring an elephant in the room just makes it bigger. Be self-aware. Maybe you’re chattering because you do so characteristically, or because you feel nervous and vulnerable. This isn’t about you.

Advice-givers: People often give advice such as, Start dating again, Have another child; Take a long vacation; Concentrate on your other children; It’s time to get over it; Remember the good times. But when we hear this advice, we may interpret it as, “What’s wrong with you? If only you’d take my wise counsel, you’d feel better.” I remember people advised me to take a sedative, but somehow I knew I needed to shed a certain number of tears (more than I could ever have imagined) and that it would be counterproductive to try to mask my pain with medication.

Platitude-offerers: When you spout clichés like, God must have wanted him, He’s in a better place, You did everything you could, the bereaved may feel offended. You may prefer to believe God must have wanted him, but the bereaved person may hate God at the moment, and thus feel de-legitimized for feeling what she feels.

Pseudo-empathizers: It’s particularly distressing for those experiencing “high grief” as from child loss to hear that you know just how we feel. If you haven’t experienced the same loss, you have no idea how we feel-and maybe not even then.

Lesson-Learners: There may be profound lessons to be learned from tragedy, but it’s best to let others learn them in our own time and way. Don’t tell us, Everything happens for a reason, You never know, We must learn to appreciate our lives, or Life is short.

Abandoners: Whatever the conscious or unconscious rationalizations-fear of saying the wrong thing, or feeling uncomfortable in the face of grief-if you walk away from a friend who needs you, you’re probably walking away from the friendship permanently.

HOW TO HELP

Take your cues from the bereaved person. If she’s sitting quietly, sit beside her. If he’s using humor to cope, laugh a little. Offer a hug or hold a hand.

Let us tell our story, in as much detail as we want, even if we repeat it, even if it’s horrific and hard to hear. It actually helps people to tell the story.

Read about grief, or search online under “grief” or “bereavement.” You honor your bereaved friend by learning all you can. Good books include, A Good Friend for Bad Times (Augsburg Fortress) by Deborah Bowen and Susan Strickler, and, I Wasn’t Ready to Say Goodbye (Sourcebooks) by Pamela Blair and Brook Noel. I also recommend my own novel, Saving Elijah, which was praised by the “Washington Post” for its “tough minded interrogative approach to grief, and which for all its supernatural trappings and its wise talking, spectral literary device, is essentially an extended metaphor for the psychological process of grief.”

Acknowledge the deceased person. Tell a wonderful anecdote. Even now, I am grateful when someone mentions Michael. Just saying his name aloud brings him back into the world.

Offer practical and specific support. Make calls, pick up the kids from school, cook a meal, mow the lawn. Don’t say, “Is there anything I can do?” Or, “Call me if you need me.” The fog of bereavement is thick. Decide what you can do, given our relationship and appropriate cultural/religious considerations, and then do it.

Stay in touch. Remember that when the formal mourning period is over and the last casserole is gone, we’re still here, alone and grieving. Now is the time to show up.

Contact the bereaved on significant days-birthdays, death days, anniversaries. These are difficult, especially “firsts.” Don’t avoid, ignore, or forget them. We haven’t.

Banish the word closure from your vocabulary. There is no such thing, and who would want it, anyway? We incorporate our losses into our lives. I’m a different person than I was before I lost Michael, and my loss informs every day of my life. Psychologists have proposed many ways to describe how we find a way to live with loss, but the one I find most useful is that we must “reinvest” in a new reality without the lost one. I eventually wrote a novel and my husband and I established an educational program for toddlers with special needs, in memory of our son, but reinvestment can be small and private too, revealed in a change in priorities, attitudes, interests or goals.

Meet us where we are. Don’t have expectations. Don’t compare one grief to another. Remember that grief may take years to work through. Be prepared for tears, moaning, sighing, wailing, trembling, even screaming. Don’t take anger personally. Remember that Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief-denial, bargaining, anger, despair, acceptance-come not in stages but in circles and waves like a roller coaster.

The best definition of compassion I’ve ever found is a Buddhist one: “Compassion is willingness to be close to suffering.” It takes work, stamina, and commitment to support the bereaved. Be present. Be humble. Observe. Reflect. Allow silence. Don’t judge. Accept.

Listen. .
* * *

Fran Dorf is the author of the novels A Reasonable Madness (Birch Lane, Signet, Vivisphere); Flight (Dutton, Signet, Vivisphere) and Saving Elijah (Putnam), which a starred PUBLISHER’S WEEKLY review called, “a stunning novel that crackles with suspense, dark humor, and provocative questions.” Part ghost story, part family drama, and part thriller, Saving Elijah was inspired by the loss of Fran’s son, Michael. Fran also holds a master’s degree in psychology and conducts “Write-to-heal” workshops to help people cope with grief, trauma, and/or loss.

Her website/blog is http://www.frandorf.com . (THE BRUISED MUSE).

A version of this article originally appeared in Bottom Line/Personal, June 1, 2008