The Gift of Hope

No one ever says I want to grow up to write a book about grief.  But life has a way of throwing us a curve ball, and then handing us a mitt.  A few months ago I was invited to co-author a book featuring women from around the world who have all faced and endured a traumatic challenge.  Our task was to write about our difficulty and then offer a lesson to help others who are facing the same challenge.  It is touching for me to share with you that our book, The Missing Piece:  A Transformational Journey, was released in print today on Amazon.

It truly is an honor to be part of such a collection of tender stories.  One chapter is written by a woman who found herself completely bald by age nine, resulting in relentless bullying.  Others wrote about enduring physical abuse, verbal abuse, addiction, and loss.  But what makes this book so unique is that the authors share not only their personal struggles, but also how that struggle resulted in an unexpected blessing.

Jazzy is home from the NICU!

While being a published author is one of my own silver linings, this book means much more to me than seeing my name in print.  You see, one of the chapters in the book is authored by my little sister, Stacy Roorda.  Seven years ago, she was a happy, healthy wife and mother of two adorable little girls when, at age 37, she visited her doctor for aching in her arm.  The resulting diagnosis was shocking:  stage four breast cancer with metastases to the bone.  

An aggressive treatment plan was immediately established but quickly halted when lab

Jazzy, a happy healthy infant.

work yielded another surprise:  she was pregnant with her third child.  The panel of doctors stood firm, and the ultimatum was cruel.  My sister was unanimously advised to abort the baby immediately to save her own life.  Despite pressure from family, friends, and the best oncologists in the state, my sister couldn’t bring herself to do it.  

Her chapter, called “Pregnant with Cancer,” is a naked and honest portrayal of finding courage and holding steadfast in one’s faith while challenging medical advice meant to save her life. 

Despite all the pretty lights and glittery packages, the holidays can be a time of struggle

for so many.  But my sister’s story, along with all the others in The Missing Piece, encourage us to never give up despite the harshest of circumstances.  And no matter how you package it, the gift of hope is the most precious of them all. 

The Missing Piece:  A Transformational Journey, compiled by Kate Gardner and co-authored by 27 remarkable women from around the world.  Now available at www.amazon.com.  Happy holidays to us all.

Lynda Cheldelin Fell

lynda@goodgriefww.com

www.astrokeoflove.blogspot.com

www.amazon.com/author/lynda.fell
www.facebook.com/WisdomofWomen/

#grief
#holidays
#hope
#Amissingpiece

Grief & the Holidays

For most, the holiday season is a cherished time of year when families and friends come together to honor their faith, enjoy a formal dinner, or simply spend precious time together.  But if someone in the gathering is in the midst of profound grief, it can turn the merriment into a tense and stressful time.  Why is the treasured holiday season so difficult for grievers?  Not only are they grieving the loss of someone close to them, but they are also grieving the loss of future holiday memories with their loved one.

Grief is one of the most profound of all injuries, yet the absence of physical wounds can make it difficult to manage.  To help you understand what the griever is facing, it can be helpful to consider the griever as not only gravely injured, but also facing a lengthy recovery that has no end in sight.  With this frame of mind, the following tips can help you support the griever as they work hard to survive an emotionally overwhelming time of year.

1.  Allow the griever to set the tone for how they wish to cope with the holidays, and honor their choices.  Whether they wish to maintain their normal holiday routine, desire to leave town, or ignore the holidays entirely, resist the urge to pressure the griever to handle the holidays “your” way.  They know what’s best for them, even if you don’t agree.  

2.  Recognize that you simply cannot lessen a griever’s pain.  Trying to do so will only exhaust you and, simply put, you cannot do or say anything that will ease the gaping wound of sorrow that follows in the wake of profound loss.  Instead, replace your words with a hug as often as necessary. 

3.  Do not feel guilty when you forget tip #2 above, it happens to all of us.  Remind yourself that the griever is coping with a significant wound that cannot be healed any faster than life itself.  If a simple statement or gesture could fix it, they would have done it.  

4.  Do not avoid the griever.  Your absence will be noticed more than you think.  If the griever asks to be left alone, honor their wishes if it is safe to do so.  Otherwise, include them in the festivities and treat them as you would any other significantly injured guest:  with kindness, compassion, and gentleness.

5.  Resist the urge to try to fill the griever’s calendar with festivities as a way to cheer them.  Just like all healing, grieving is physically and emotionally exhausting and the griever may not have the energy to keep up with all the celebrations.

6.  When around the griever, do not pretend nothing has happened.  That only creates the elephant in the room.  But don’t coddle them either.  Remember, treat them with kindness, compassion, and gentleness.

7.  Do not feel guilty for enjoying your own festivities.  And give yourself permission to take time out for yourself.  The holiday celebrations are a wonderful way to recharge your own batteries, and depriving yourself serves no purpose.  If the griever is present most of the time, then carve out ways that allow you to celebrate in private.  Even small ways can recharge your batteries, like indulging in whipped cream on your favorite hot holiday drink or enjoying a night out with other friends.  

8.  Expect the griever to have cranky moments.  From lashing out in anger to having a meltdown like a small child, pain can easily overload our emotions.  Recognize that the emotions of grief are far too powerful for us to control every second.  If you are having difficulty finding compassion during one of these moments, go outside for a breath of fresh air and take a moment to remember that pain makes us all cranky.  It’s human nature.

9.  If possible, help the griever find a way to honor their loved one’s memory during the holidays.  Treat them to coffee, then “pay it forward” to the person in line behind you in the loved one’s memory.  Or buy a small bouquet of balloons in the loved one’s favorite color and leave it in a public spot for a stranger to find while you both watch discretely.  Or help the griever donate to a cause that was close to their loved one’s heart.

10.  Should the griever find themselves caught up in the moment and enjoying the merriment, celebrate with them.  But be patient if the moment doesn’t last long.  Over time, those precious moments of joy will grow as the rawness softens.

You need not understand the complexity of grief in order to have compassion and sensitivity toward the griever’s discomfort and sadness during the holiday season.  Past memories of merrier times and traditions magnify the loss and sorrow that those times and traditions are no longer, abruptly replaced by a new, often unwanted future.  

Remember that the griever is working hard to cope with a profound injury:  a genuinely broken heart.  Honor the griever’s sorrow by allowing their tears when the emotions become too raw to keep inside.  Tears offers a release from the emotion, and your warm hug and dry shoulder offers the most precious holiday gift of all.              

Ten Tips to Surviving the Holiday Kaleidoscope

Pumpkin spice lattes. Steaming hot cocoa. Storefronts dressed in holiday style.

The holiday season is a time of gaiety filled with Hallmark moments. But for those with a heart full of sorrow, the first pumpkin spice ad can herald a trickle of nostalgia and a torrent of tears with nowhere to escape.

I remember our first year without Aly, our holiday-loving 15-year-old daughter who died in a car accident one summer's end. On top of indescribable grief, the approaching holidays suddenly added a new layer of dread.

Aly and I had always loved the holiday season with unbridled enthusiasm. Unpacking yuletide decorations in October was common. It was simply a passion we shared. Now facing the holidays without her teenage exuberance over Home Alone 2 and Andy Williams, how would our family manage? How would we survive such pain?

I didn't want to face the holidays to find out. I wanted to hit the pause button and skip over the entire next decade. But one look into my young grandson's eyes told me I couldn't. As much as nothing felt normal, normalcy felt like the right thing to do. I had to carry on.

Making the decision to muster forward, I allowed tradition to carry me through. I was in a fog of grief anyway, so allowed autopilot to become my new best friend. When the landscape of landmines elicited visceral reactions, familiarity gave me comfort and guided me through.

With 8 years now under my belt, I can honestly say I no longer dread what was once—and continues to be—my favorite time of year. With the holidays now around the corner, it's important to hold on to the idea that hope is possible. But until that happens, the following tips will help the newly bereaved navigate through the festivities with some assurance that if I can survive, they can too.

1. Maintain your routine. A familiar routine offers a sense of reassurance that at least one thing in life hasn't changed, and the familiarity can help ground us through the holiday hustle. But if the idea of sticking to routine is more than you can bear, then honor your need to break tradition. In short, do what feels most soothing.

2.  Protect your time. Give yourself lots of breathing room, and avoid packing the schedule too full. Grieving is emotionally exhausting; plenty of rest will help minimize raw nerves through the flurry of shopping, school performances, and parties.

3.  Cut some slack and buy store-bought. Since grieving is naturally distracting and the ER isn't a great place to dine, let someone else operate the carving knife. Even the smallest kitchen disaster can quickly deplete coping skills. So if the family expects your legendary dinner rolls, then cheat with gourmet mashed potatoes and gravy from the deli.

4. Treat yourself to TLC, and lots of it. Tenderly soothing individual body parts is an attentive way to honor your emotional pain. Wear an especially soft pair of socks. Ask for whipped cream on your drive-thru mocha. Indulge in aromatherapy soap in the shower. While small gestures do nothing to erase the emotional heartache, they do offer your physical body a reminder that not all pleasure is lost.

5.  Skip the chaos. Take time to create peaceful surroundings. Turn off the computer, light a fragrant candle, grab a soft blanket, and binge-watch a good show.

6.  Feel joy. Without guilt. Go ahead, give yourself permission. If you find yourself humming to holiday music, don’t stop. The heart can feel joy the same time as sorrow, and it helps to balance the sadness. Allow yourself to experience moments of joy without guilt.

7.  Honor the past. Find a way to include your loved one’s memory in the festivities. Hang their stocking and fill it with cat toys or dog treats to share with the family pet on Christmas morning. Visit your loved one’s favorite coffee stand and pay it forward. Buy a small bouquet of balloons in your loved one’s favorite color and leave it in a public spot for a stranger to find on Christmas Eve.

8.  Heal others. Do something in the community that lifts your spirits. It's gratifying to help others, and is a good reminder that we aren’t alone in our struggles. It helps us keep perspective that the holidays can be challenging for many.

9. Hibernate. If you need to hide from the world to recharge your battery, take comfort knowing that many need to hibernate this time of year, and apologize to no one.

10. Cry. Give in to the tears. There is no shortage of raw emotions over the holidays, and crying is how we release intense feelings. Tears are healing—no matter what anyone says.

Even though it comes around like clockwork, the holidays can remain one of the most dreaded times of the year for those with a heart full of sorrow. Allow yourself to try a handful of the suggestions above as you navigate the emotional kaleidoscope that begins with those first pumpkin spice ads. Because if I can survive, then it's survivable.

Just don’t forget the whipped cream.

Grief & Divorce

"Many couples divorce after losing a child," offered one well-meaning friend after another in the months following Aly's accident. I can't help but wonder why people feel compelled to share this with newly grieving parents. Meant to be comforting, it is anything but. Yet hear it, we do. And repeatedly.

So why is it that two people who love each other until-death-do-us-part might find themselves, in the aftermath of a tragedy, in divorce court?

In the immediate days and months after losing a child, both parents are in "the fog" of shock. They cling to each other as terror fills their days and nights like a never ending nightmare. The only way to cope with the fog of grief is through autopilot. Our brain no longer functions, but our body continues to instinctively go through the daily motions of making dinner, doing laundry, washing dishes. We have “to go on" for the sake of the family. Although our body seems to automatically manage everyday tasks, our heart and spirit are in the Intensive Care Unit. Our lungs keep breathing, our muscles keep working, but our mind and spirit are frozen in shock.

In the early days of the aftermath, family, friends, and neighbors help care for the bereaved. But, as those of us grieving know all too well, intense pain lasts long after the meals stop coming. Furthermore, whether physical or emotional, intense pain is incredibly distracting, consuming, and exhausting. Our entire focus remains on getting through the worst until the next wave hits. Now imagine living like this day in and day out for months and months. Just getting through the day is exhausting, leaving very little reserves for anything else, including our marriage.

Add to this the biological fact that men and women are just wired different. As young girls, women learn from older female relatives to talk, share, and discuss. In contrast, boys are often taught to hold feelings in, to "toughen up.” So the coping mechanisms we use during great hardship are vastly different. Grieving mothers often seek comfort under the wings of other communicatively nurturing females. Grieving men tend to shut down, preferring instead to find comfort in solitary activities such as working alone in the garage or spending longer hours at work.

These conflicting styles can cause a couple to separate from what started out as parallel paths, sometimes leading to a complete and permanent disconnect. And when grief shatters both of us into unrecognizable versions of our former selves, it can be a challenge to find mutually familiar ground again, if ever.

But grieving parents can find satisfaction, even happiness, in a marriage given time and the right tools. Consider resisting the urge to share baseless divorce statistics and, instead, support the parents as they walk the journey as husband and wife, and encourage them to hang tightly to one another as they ride the waves of pain together.

Mark Twain once said, "Facts are stubborn things, but statistics are pliable." In the face of tragedy, ignore public perception and allow patience, compassion, and tenderness to fill your marriage until solid footing once again takes hold.

The Life of a Grieving Mother

The warm summer day started out just like any other. I was busy organizing the kids, planning dinner, making a mental note to fill the car with gas and pick up a gallon of milk on my way home. Suddenly without warning, I was engulfed by a raging fire. I suffered third degree burns over my entire body—not an inch of me was spared.

People rushed to my side to help but there was nothing they could do to ease the excruciating pain. Medical resources were limited in the face of such devastation. Even their best medications did little to ease the agony. I wasn't sure I could survive such intense suffering. Worse, nobody could tell me how long the agony would last.

The medical community gently advised me that although my physical self would heal, the disfigurement would remain for life. My family, friends, and coworkers no longer recognized me. I no longer recognized myself. Mirrors were to be avoided at all costs.

At first doing little things like sitting up in bed or standing were so excruciating,  they took my breath away. The mere thought of eating, bathing, and dressing left me feeling nauseated, helpless and hopeless.

Pity and sadness were apparent in the eyes of everyone who came to visit. I understood the sadness, but I hated the pity. Why on God's green earth was I spared the peace of death?

Learning to live with complete disfigurement and extreme pain is overwhelming. It is excruciating, slow, and exhausting. Years of great effort is spent trying to master even basic activities. Some days I hurt too bad to even try.

Other days, when out in public, I pretend to be normal so as to ease the discomfort readily apparent in the eyes of those who are brave enough to glance my direction. Some avoid me altogether, adding further angst to my broken spirit. Pretending to be normal is exhausting, and quickly depletes all my reserves. By the time I finish errands and return home, I'm utterly spent.

Worst of all, there is absolutely nothing that I—nor anyone else—can do about it.

For you see, that complete disfigurement and intolerable pain described above is on the inside of my body. The pain is unchanged, the disfigurement is still complete and the scars are permanent. The new life that was thrust upon me that day when my child died caused a firestorm that engulfed every part of my life. The only differences between me and the patient who suffered third degree burns over her entire body is that I lived. And my pain is invisible to the world.

Welcome to the life of a grieving mother.