November * December 2002   November again, almost winter. Muted world outside, Faded red, misty yellow - Fog in the morning, Even the hardest wind Seems kind enough, Because we know, we know That stormy blades Lie waiting   November again, almost winter. Gently the heart reaches For the awareness of things to come; Holidays, so we call them. Gently, the heart turns to Christmas. Songs everywhere. And lights. Gently the heart must remember The things gone by, The time gone by, The child gone by. November again. There is love in our pain... Memories in our grief... Hope in our sharing... Author Unknown This Christmas, unwrap your own unique gift of HOPE from your imaginary Christmas tree. HOPE that with sharing with Compassionate Friends, your present pain and hurting will be more bearable. A Compassionate Friend.... who has been there and has traveled the road of parental grief, who has experienced all the ups and downs of that journey and can now sing a new song in this new land of bereaved parents... is your greatest gift and your greatest HOPE.... that you too can manage all your grief and hurt.   Lindsay Harmer TCF/Australia from "Christmas...A Time of Hurting and Healing"     HAPPY HOLIDAYS A Santa Claus parade - a troop of Christmas angel twirlers - a little brother's question - "Do you think Amy's there? She's an angel! Isn't she? Maybe she came down for Christmas...." Four - count them - one, two, three, - a walk in the woods to search for the perfect tree - one's missing - but a yesterday - there's the fourth; running, excited, covered in mud and snow - a runny nose - frosted cheeks - a Christmas twinkle in the eye - four of them - see - one, two, three....... We wrap ourselves for the holidays much like the presents we give. The brightly colored paper hides what's within. When people look at us they only see the outside. We promise ourselves we will not come unwrapped. We'll make it through the family celebrations, the church services, and the big occasions. The paper and the ribbon will remain intact. But it's the small thing that manages to untie the bow. The little insignificant moment; the Christmas parade, the search for the tree, the discovered ornament, the special carol, the memory, and the paper gets wrenched off. The true Christmas presence shows itself. The inevitable tide of feelings bursts out of the artificially decorated facade. The emotions pour out. The anger wells up. The tears are shed and the holidays come. These are as sure as the tide of the sea and the march of time. Only a Compassionate Friend, a bereaved parent, knows of what I speak. Yet the answer is not in fighting or denying these feelings. We have paid the price. We have the right to grieve. The resolution to our grief is in grieving. Our hope for all who read this letter is that you will make it through the holidays. We cannot make the pain go away. But know there are others who suffer with you. We have made it through, and together will continue on. -Hank Hewett / TCF Scranton, PA   Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear -- all of which have the potential to turn a life around Leo Buscaglia       Christmas In Baby Heaven Silent night holy night all is calm all is bright. Not so, is it? It’s the first Christmas since your child’s death. It is hell. You find it hard to face the crowded shopping malls; the fa-la-la-la is removed from the decking of the halls; the dancing doll and the ever so fast racing sets which glitter of new fallen “create a flake” leave you feeling uneasy; and ole Santa cannot give you what you want most, regardless of how good you are… Funny, this is the seventh Christmas since your child died and damn it’s not much easier than the first. You still want to rush up to tell the man or the woman with their hands loaded down with Christmas gifts how lucky they are to be buying for their kids. You still want to buy that doll or racing set, but you feel half crazy as you walk into the store. And those Christmas cards are still avoiding the issue, and they hurt, just like they did on the first Christmas… Perhaps you can and do identify with the paragraphs above. Perhaps your season of glad tidings is a season of hurried tidings. Perhaps the peace on earth hasn’t quite found its way into your heart yet. Perhaps your holiday season is filled with avoidance rather than involvement. In the holidays of joy, why are we so reminded of sadness? Why do we seem to do so well all year long, until Christmas time? Oh, I know that you do not need to be reminded that it’s particularly a children’s holiday and that the windows are so filled with those things that you always wanted to buy for him/her. Maybe it’s because it’s the season to forget the rational and indulge in our children’s fantasy world only to discover the sea of broken toys on December 26th. Maybe it’s because it’s a season filled with laughter, joy, and life. It is a season where the lack of it, is disturbingly noticed. It is a season where emptiness becomes emptier, and loneliness becomes lonelier. Trapped in this paradox, last Christmas I visited a cemetery off West Florissant Road where children who I had known and worked with were buried. The area I visited was particularly significant, for it is known as Baby Heaven, that area set aside for the burial of young children. On that day I almost thought I was at another Compassionate Friends meeting as parents freely mingled and shared among other parents who were visiting their child’s gravesite. I sensed an unusual camaraderie in that other parents had a real sense of what the other was going through. It was as though each was telling the other that “you are not alone.” After a while many couples (and a large number of children of all ages) departed and I took the liberty of visiting the graves. The ensuing twenty minutes I will never forget. There lay the spirit of Christmas, as if the area was under a huge Christmas tree. There was the big red drum with the words, “We miss you Robbie,” on the top. And Amanda had “Tiny Tearful,” the crying doll, next to her tombstone. A teddy bear, a tin soldier and manger scenes helped to fill cemetery toyland. Another child’s family had Christmas cards, complete with personal messages in each, paper clipped into the ground. And, of course, numerous decorated Christmas trees with handmade ornaments made by the surviving siblings. Sad yet beautiful. I walked away and tried to gather my emotions. My psychological side began yelling out various and unimportant theories, conclusions and abstracts; my personal side found peace. What I indeed saw was beauty in the midst of tragedy. I saw families remembering their children in a special, real way. They had not put their deceased child into a special role, but allowed the child’s role to remain special. The grave decorations did not make the deceased child an untouchable saint, but allowed him/her to be the memory of what they really were—a good but not perfect child. What I saw that day will stay with me forever for I saw expressions of giving, expressions of Christmas. I saw the hope in parent’s eyes, the same hope found in a child’s eyes as they awake Christmas morning to discover that Santa has arrived. And perhaps that is what God had in mind when he sent His Son to us on a Christmas morning two thousand years ago—hope, understanding, and the feeling that He is with us always. And so, this Christmas, I encourage you to visit your child’s gravesite. Allow Christmas to happen there as it happens in your home. Allow the giving ness inside of you to give once more. God bless you, have a hope filled Christmas. Silent Night, Holy Night, All Is Somewhat Calm, All is Somewhat Bright. By Larry Siedle Pastoral Counselor at Cardinal Glennon Hospital for Children Lovingly lifted from St. Louis Newsletter 1988 WHAT IS BEST FOR YOU? For those of us who are at the second or third or later holiday, this year may be even harder. One reason is that after a year or more is past we will not have the support we need, and yes, even the permission of those around us, to hurt at the holidays. Others only give us a year to grieve and surely if you have gone through the first holiday without your child, they feel you should not have trouble after that. The second holiday season may be the most difficult because we were numb and hurt so badly at the first holiday that we barely realized the holidays were there. Maybe in the second year the shock of the death is less and the reality that our child IS dead and will NEVER again be a part of our holidays again is even more vivid. This is a deeper and more lasting pain than we experienced in the first year. We may experience this pain for many years. Again, I encourage you to do what is best for yourself and your surviving children and allow those around you to think what they will. They have not experienced what we have and do not have the right to inflict their expectations on us, nor do we have the obligation to conform to their expectations. A word about approval might be appropriate here. We are a society that lives by approval. Others must approve of our actions, our behavior, and sometimes, even our thoughts. If we don't meet the approval of society we are cast out. Even if we turn that lack of approval inside and say to ourselves: "If I don't conform I must be different or wrong". If we are concerned with meeting another's approval we surrender our individuality - our real selves. If we are to grow from the experience of losing our child; if we are to successfully resolve our grief, we must stop looking to others for approval of what we do. We must have personal confidence that how WE handle our grief is good and right. Since WE are experiencing OUR grief; WE are suffering OUR pain; WE are working towards OUR recovery, WE must do it OUR way. Just as no one can live our lives, no one can live our grief and no one can tell us how to grieve. See yourself as knowing what is best for you. Don't let others take that right from you by succumbing to their disapproval.  Handle the holidays, whether it is your first or twenty-first, the way that is best for you. You will be the one who will grow from it. Margaret Gerner. TCF St. Louis, MO January One New Year new life new hope new expectations new beginnings Old times old fears old places old disappointments old dead ends I am aware of my resistance to change I am aware of how reality is and how Life Goes On I am aware of how vulnerable I feel Birthdays Death Dayes Celebrations Anniversaries Seeking a new future As the haunting past returns I AM ME   Change is possible      and difficult       Inevitable I LIVE ON     NOW Cindy Bouman TCF, Hinsdale, IL     TCF Southwestern Manitoba sends their wishes out to all for a peace-filled holiday season for you and your loved ones