Tears are Hot

BY DEANA L. MARTIN

Written January 2012, one year after losing both children in a car accident.  Deana is now the Vice President of Cry for Me No More, a nonprofit organization serving thousands around the country.  She and her husband raise their sole granddaughter, who was in the car behind Deana's daughter and son.

I never really noticed how hot tears are as they roll down my face. Sure, I have cried many times before you died; but you leaving made time stand still and life feel so surreal.

Shock, numbness, nausea, and pain so severe I was certain I would die. 

Can’t they see it? Surly they can. No one acts as if they can see it. My heart hurts so badly, my soul aches; my breasts hurt yearning for my children, how can that be? Why can’t they see it? Why can’t they help?

Who am I now that my children have gone? Where am I now that your voices are no where to be heard? There are no phone calls with crises to fix. No more reasons to give you money today. No problems that only Mom knows the answers to.

It’s been a year now since you went home, and I find myself feeling so alone. Who will care for me when I am old? What of my future? Where have my dreams gone, your college graduations, your careers, your weddings, the holidays at your homes?

Since you left I struggle with so many questions.  Am I still a mom? I have no children now, so how could I possibly be a mom? What if I had bought four new tires for the car instead of two? What if I had not given you gas money to make the trip?

I never noticed how hot tears are as they roll down my face. As I cry for missing you both as I often do, the tears fall in slow motion symbolic of how today it’s still so unreal.

It seems like yesterday I received that dreaded call.  "I hate to have to tell you this," he said on the phone. At that moment I knew what I was about to hear would change my life forever. 

I knew what he was about to say I could not bear.

But for some reason I did not know you were dead; I thought mothers were to know those things, a feeling, a hunch. I had so much guilt that I didn’t know my babies had died when I was in that meeting 10:30 that morning.

My first thought when I heard his voice was that you made him call because our granddaughter, our "baby girl," had died and you could not tell me yourself because of your broken hearts and your personal shock. But then I heard those dreaded words that I will never forget.

"Amanda and Logan have been killed in an accident."  Or maybe he said, "Amanda and Logan are dead."  Or possibly even, "There has been an accident, and Amanda and Logan didn’t make it." I don’t recall the exact words, but the end result was all the same.

I never noticed how hot tears are as they roll down my face. As I cry today, one year later, I cry more for me and our little girl not having you in our lives for I know you are home now and we will be together again one day.

I thank you for leaving your baby girl here with me; I thank God daily she was in the car behind you. We have each other and we will make it through and create a new life together as you meant us to.

Caring for her has helped me to heal that part of me that asked if I am still a ,om. My answer today is yes, I am a ,om of 3, 2 of my children live in heaven and I have one precious little granddaughter who lives here with me.

The year has gone so fast; I can’t believe I write this now one year later.  In some ways I feel no different. The pain is still immense; my heart still hurts, my soul still aches, the physical pain still remains.

But the difference is today I have seen the other side; I have experienced joy where last year I believed I never would again. I have laughed and smiled and played as we used to do. I strive daily to go on in your memory, with your love as my inspiration as you would want me to.

Some days I even forget to notice the temperature of the tears as they fall down my face. 

For once more they are healing tears.  Tears of joy, tears of anger and tears of sadness, they are not only the tears of a mother's broken heart.

In Loving Memory of

Amanda Suzanne Mills 12/15/85-1/20/11 and Logan Robert Mills 5/27/89-1/20/11

One year after their transition home.

Written by their Mother

Deana L. Martin

A Village of Loss, a Village of Love

This morning as I sat down at the computer with coffee mug in hand, I was instantly mesmerized as I reviewed a Grief Diaries entry describing a loved one’s suicide:

“The level of devastation and confusion after a loss like this is completely beyond description. There are no adequate words to describe the deep ocean of ache that washes over you as relentlessly as waves are washed over the shore. Looking back, I only remember a series of blackened days. Moving through each day felt like moving through concrete. I couldn’t understand why everyone’s world was still turning while mine had come to a shuddering halt. I wasn’t there; I was suspended in a world that wasn’t reality, a world where Hannah was still alive. I couldn’t understand why everything was unfolding as if she had died.”

Feeling the purity of the emotions, the words stole my breath.  

The entries to the Grief Diaries, a book series about loss, come in all day long. Yet every entry mesmerizes me by the candid rawness.  The contributing authors, baring the good, the bad, and the ugly, leave nothing to the imagination.  

Their individual stories unite into a sacred collection of recorded memories. Accordingly, I handle each entry with kid gloves, as if the very words themselves are fragile.

Will other readers feel the same way I do? Will the deeply profound stories touch their hearts the same way they touch mine? 

Some people might shudder at reading such stories. Some, seeing only sadness, will turn away from the raw beauty. 

Yet I see a treasure chest yielding a legacy of comfort, healing and hope.  The kind of legacy that can only be created by a rich collection of voices. 

And every voice is valued.  

The 70 authors collaborating on this series readily swap thoughts, support and cyber hugs. And I can’t help but admire our little group. A village of kindness, compassion, and support where cultural differences and societal imperfections have little bearing. Here in this village we all speak the same language of loss, and every journey is honored. 

And I feel overwhelming gratitude at sharing their brokenness. And humanness. And love.

For grief is ultimately all about love. 

And I am grateful. 

Copyright © 2015 Confessions of a Grieving Mother. All Rights Reserved. 

www.lyndafell.com | www.griefdiaries.com

My conversation with Martin Luther King's daughter about loss, hope

This past April I invited Martin Luther King's youngest daughter, Dr. Bernice King, to speak at the National Grief & Hope Convention.  The conversation we had far surpassed my expectations from a speaker, and I was honored and humbled to have an opportunity to sit down with Dr. King for an intimate discussion about her life.

Weathering seven family tragedies between the age of 5 and 25, Dr. King was charming yet candid about the lifelong effects of her loss and sorrow.  She also shared what brought her comfort and hope. 

I wrote about the conversation in Glen Beck's national network TheBlaze.  Here are the links to both parts.  "Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light."  - Helen Keller

PART I

PART II 

What to Say and Do (or not) to the Newly Bereaved

When someone you know is grieving, what do you say? What can you do?  I am asked that question all the time.  And yet, just two weeks ago I found myself asking a newly widowed 82 year-old man if he needed anything.  "I don't even know what I need," was his reply.  Fair enough.

So what does the newly bereaved need?  Family and friends usually respond with lots of food, as they pay their respects to both the dearly departed and the newly bereaved.  But then what?  

After the service is over, and family and friends stop coming by, that's when the real grieving starts.  And that's precisely when the awkwardness begins, causing those same well meaning family and friends to do one of two things:  (1)  Say something they believe is comforting, but is actually insulting and makes things worse, or (2) avoid the bereaved altogether.

So why don't we compile a simple list of what to say and do?  Been there, done that.  We see it every few months in the Huffington Post or New York Times, written by someone new. Sure, those articles get read but, simply put, we are visual creatures and tend to retain little from a newspaper article.   Besides, its not like someone takes the time to clip it out to post on the lunch room fridge.

So, not one to shy from breaking new ground, I decided to find a way to teach people how to help the bereaved from a different venue.

Enter Grief Diaries 101.  

Thanks to today's technology, and with a little help from stars aligning in perfect synchronicity, Grief Diaries 101 will launch on Tuesday, September 15, 2015, via The Wellness Universe and LearnItLive.  And, since loss happens every day, a live webinar will run the third Tuesday of every month.  Each month we'll cover common tips and hints and then focus on a particular type of loss, and participants will learn what to say and do that is helpful to those faced with that kind of loss.

Did you know that the number one thing a griever needs in the initial days after a loss is toilet paper?  I'll share the answer why in Grief Diaries 101.  

So, what actually is the best thing to say to the newly bereaved?  Look for that answer too (and it's not what you think).  

Because I don't know all the answers, and since every loss is unique, guest instructors will share their own tips and thoughts to broaden the scope of instruction and enrich the discussion with their own perspectives.

Grief Diaries 101 is for everyone who has a newly bereaved coworker, neighbor, family or friend that they don't know how to help. Participants are invited to come with questions they wouldn't dare ask anywhere else, and be prepared for 90 minutes of helpful information everybody needs to know.

Each class is $20.  Click HERE to to learn more.

Dear Pastor Osteen,

I forgive you. More specifically, I forgive you your trespasses against me and millions of others. For you have been led into temptation to judge something you have never experienced, and throw those who have to the lions.

Yes, I forgive you for using grieving parents in your book “Your Best Life Now” to illustrate your point that some people thrive on self-pity, or worse relishing the attention it brings. For your trespasses against the bereaved are not your fault. Sadly, you portray the perfect example of a larger problem in our society known as grief illiteracy.

Grief illiteracy is a dreadfully expensive and problematic issue in America costing millions in lost wages, lost relationships, lost health, and worse. It stems from adhering to outdated beliefs surrounding the mourning process following the loss of a loved one.

Pastor Osteen, your idea that the bereaved need just a few months to “let go of their grief” is a gross assumption bearing little resemblance to the truth. Much like Phil and Judy, the bereft couple you portray in “Your Best Life Now,” finding peace and joy in the aftermath of profound loss can take years if not a lifetime.

And much like you, many well meaning family and friends walk away, quit coming, quit calling, and start avoiding the bereaved because of the notion that mourning is only acceptable for a mere few months. It’s true that in the initial weeks following a loss, delivered meals and untold hugs are abundant. But the grieving process has barely begun when the meals stop coming and the last visitor leaves.

Shame on you, Pastor Osteen, for lecturing us to shake off the self-pity, change the channel, and dwell on the good things God has done in our life. To ignore the suffering victim who suddenly had his right arm severed would be cruel. To instruct him to look past the agony and instead focus on his remaining left arm is devastatingly ignorant.

I do have empathy for your shortcoming on this issue, for you haven’t lost a child. But let me help you understand why your depiction of Phil and Judy to make a point about self-pity is not only incredibly insensitive but, truth be told, a bit tragic coming from an esteemed person like yourself.

To give you an idea of our journey, imagine going about your everyday life when, without warning, a raging fire overtakes you. If you survive, for some don’t, you find yourself with third-degree burns over your entire body, not an inch of skin spared. The pain is excruciating and the best medications do little to dull the intensity. The medical community gently warns that although your skin will eventually heal, the scars and disfigurement are permanent, leaving you utterly unrecognizable to loved ones, coworkers, neighbors, friends, and even yourself.

At first, doing little things like sitting up in bed or standing is so painful it takes your breath away. Just the mere thought of daily activities such as eating, bathing, and dressing are too much to bear. Pity and sadness are evident in the eyes of everyone, and you wonder why on God’s earth you were spared the peace that death would bring.

Learning to live with complete disfigurement and a lifetime of pain is slow, overwhelming and exhausting. It can take years of great effort to master even basic activities you once loved. Some days you hurt too bad to even try. Other days you find yourself completely exhausted from pretending to be normal. And worst of all, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Now pretend that the complete disfigurement and intolerable pain described above are on the inside of your body, utterly invisible to the world around you. The pain is unchanged, the disfigurement is complete, and the scars are permanent. This new life thrust upon you is completely foreign, outright frightening, and you wonder whether it is even worth living.

Welcome to the life of a grieving parent.

Every loss is as unique to the individual as one’s fingerprint, but for most the timeframe for healing can be years. Not weeks or months, but years. That’s because the devastation left in the wake of a profound loss bears a tremendous impact upon not just our emotional health, but our physical and spiritual fitness as well, costing our healthcare industry millions each year.

Some turn to alcohol and drugs to ease the constant and overwhelming pain. Many face little to no support, often resulting in further losses like jobs and relationships. None of this is due to self pity or refusing to let go of our grief. It is the result of ignorance and grief illiteracy, the lack of understanding and support by those who adhere to outdated notions bearing little resemblance to reality.

In your blog Let Go Of The Ashes, you chide a widower for missing his wife 10 years later.

“He let a season of mourning turn into a lifetime of mourning.”

Further, you compare his loss with the same defeat one feels over a job he didn’t get, or a relationship that didn’t work out.

Shame on you, Pastor Osteen.

By perpetuating the belief that sorrow lasting longer than a few months is nothing more than self pity, you invalidate the grief of millions of bereaved souls, robbing them of the very hope needed to survive.

Pastor Osteen, you preach about reaching the unreached, telling the untold. According to your website, lives are being changed, relationships are being restored, and communities are being transformed as you broadcast a message of hope. Imagine the hearts you could reach, the relationships you could restore, the communities you could strengthen if you took the time to improve your own grief literacy.

At the very least, I humbly ask you to stop depicting bereaved people in your writings as you describe those who thrive on self pity, relishing in the attention our loss has brought, and refusal to change the channel.

The barrage of protests against you over recent weeks for your illiterate depictions of the bereaved is unfortunately well earned. Some have demanded an apology, but I forgive you your trespasses against me and millions of others. I forgive you for judging something you have never experienced, for you are human too. But repeatedly throwing the wounded to the lions is truly ignorant.

American psychologist Dr. Wayne Dyer once said, “The highest form of ignorance is when you reject something you don’t know anything about.”

Pastor Osteen, I pray you’ll never find out.

This article was originally published on TheBlaze on June 23, 2015.

Grief is a Four-Letter Word

Grief is a four-letter word. Yes, I can count, but as a grieving mother, it’s a four-letter word in my book.

Just the sound of it is heavy, sad and depressing. Most people avoid it at all cost, just like they avoid me. While I’ve gotten used to the pitiful glances, if you give me five minutes I’ll make one thing abundantly clear: Grief isn’t my entire life. Not by a long shot.

There is so much more to me than being a grieving mother. Did you know I can write? I can bake too. I can sing silly songs to my grandchildren, laugh with my family, and enjoy a good margarita with the sisterhood.

Yes, my life is filled with joy. Most people don’t expect that. Some even say I don’t look like a grieving mother because I smile and enjoy life. Which leads to the inevitable question: How did I manage my loss so well, how did I make sense from such brokenness?

Truth be told, once a grieving mother, always a grieving mother. And forever a permanent sister of The Wailing Tent. Grieving is a horrible process that imprisons us. It’s like someone stole the Technicolor from the movie of our life. But I believe that if I can find my way through the darkness of grief, anyone can.

So I’m happy to answer the inquiries, readily share how I broke free from my sorrow to create a life rich with blessings that include silly songs, moments of laughter, and an occasional salt-rimmed glass.

First, I give a good chunk of the credit to those who surrounded me in my darkest hours. But it’s also true that in the first long stretch, I unapologetically honored my need to tend to my brokenness in private. Like a wounded animal in the wild, I allowed very few in, mainly for their own protection.

Second, pain hurts, and it hurts deeply. And its human nature to flee from that which hurts us. Yet almost instinctively I understood that my wound was simply too profound to run from. So I paid my dues and endured my sentence in the dark, lonely prison of deep sorrow. At the same time, I hung on to the hope that there was no expiration date on the joy that waited for me when I was ready to seek it.

I also recognized that the effort to move through the grief was entirely my responsibility, and mine alone. Every morning I was faced with the choice of whether to get out of bed. It took all my effort and I certainly didn’t feel like it, but I forced myself. And much like strengthening a muscle, my ability to face the day grew stronger until it eventually took no effort at all.

In the meantime, I found a number of gratifying outlets to keep me busy. I love creating projects and endeavors that touch the lives of others, and it fills my heart with gratitude to do so. But in the early days of my solitude, I could barely function so I started with mindless, repetitive projects like beading and knitting. Grief is terribly distracting, so I kept to simple projects for my own safety.

Also, I embraced humor and amusement, because one laugh can scatter a hundred griefs. From the golden oldies like Erma Bombeck and Carol Burnett to modern day comedians such as Carol Scibelli and Tina Fey, they all possess the gift of humor, the ability to make us laugh. And laughter is like an old fashion remedy: it’s good for all that ails us. Including a sorrowful heart.

I also found comfort by reaching out to others who were struggling. It didn’t matter what their loss was, for grief comes in many forms. Supporting others is a powerful way to lift our own hearts, and offers us many benefits. This step singlehandedly is so life changing, that I continue to practice it to this day.

Lastly, I work hard to create hope. It is said that without grief, there would be no need to have hope. And while it too is a four-letter word, it is on the opposite end of the spectrum.

In fact, hope is so much more than just a simple word in the dictionary. It is the life force of our heart and soul, the food source for our dreams. When it rains, we long for the sun. When we’re hungry, we crave a good meal. When we live far from loved ones, we yearn to see them. Hope is the foundation of all our desires.

So without grief, there would be no need for hope. They go hand in hand. Which is why I created an entire event around it, the National Grief and Hope Convention. Maybe creating a convention is a bit extreme but quite simply, so is grief. And grievers need hope.

But this isn’t your average bereavement event. It is filled with nationally known personalities. Some have earned awards, some have written bestsellers, some are famous. But they all have two things in common: loss and healing. And they know that the power of sharing their inspirational journeys offers the gift of comfort and hope to those who are hurting. As the late Christopher Reeve once said, once you choose hope, anything is possible. And no one needs it more than grievers.

So you see, I am and always will be a grieving mother. My sorrow is a lifelong sentence and, from time to time, one can still find me among my sisters in The Wailing Tent. But I worked hard to process my loss, to break free from my prison cell, so I could spend more time seeking joy.

The kind that comes from singing silly songs to my grandchildren, laughing with family, and enjoying a good margarita with the sisterhood. And if I can do it, I believe anyone can. Cheers.

This article was originally published on TheBlaze on March 23, 2015.

Grammy Nominee Beth Nielsen Chapman To Deliver Keynote At National Convention On Hope | PRLog

Grammy Nominee Beth Nielsen Chapman To Deliver Keynote At National Convention On Hope | PRLog