Grief and the Holidays.... It's Hard!

Hosting an
“All feelings welcome” dinner

For the full story..... (control and click)

For people struggling with grief or other challenges, the holidays—and all the cheer

  that goes with them—can be a painful reminder of what they lost or yearn for. 

There are things we can do to make the holidays land a little more gently—both for

 ourselves and the people we care about. One is bringing everyone together around the dinner table.

If you want to open your home to loved ones who are struggling this holiday season, 

our friends at The Dinner Party are here to help. They’re an organization focused on

turning what can be an isolating experience—like grief—into a source of 

meaningful connection, using the age-old practice of breaking bread. Here, they share

their recipe for planning an event where guests can let their guard down and openly share

whatever they’re feeling—without fear of ruining the mood or not being in the “holiday spirit.” 

For step by step guidelines on how to host...... go to

Visit this link to read more...

Also visit:

Living with Grief During the Holidays

2018... the year I move forward with my grief

            Good-bye 2017        2018 HELLO!

As some of you may know, during the year I facilitate a group of individuals who come together twice a month to listen or talk about their grief journey…. a journey without end.

 At each meeting we sit in a circle of chairs and discuss a new topic on grief.

The part that amazes me is this:

Total strangers living with the pain of grief so strong that it empowers them to seek out answers. 

Coming together as strangers a miraculous thing happens…. 

Participants leave having found new acquaintances and for some new friendships. Some join us for a few meetings while others will keep attending for years. Together they have created a community, a safe place for sharing their pain, fears or loneliness. With no judgments on what is said; and no limitation on tears or laughter. (We do a lot of both) a new strength is found to carry on with life.

We openly talk about our loved ones who have died; our guilt or anger or our inability to eat; sleep; socialize or take care of our health. We sometimes talk about how we want to leave this world and be with our soul mate or loved one.  The most important part of our two hours together is that when we talk / share our deepest feelings, others listen and “get-it”.  We come to understand that we are not alone; not crazy or losing it…. We are normal!!!

We come together as strangers and leave with a new understanding of our grief; and techniques on how to remember the past and still reach for the future. We leave knowing we are not alone on this life path…. and that we can create a new normal; never forgetting our loved one, but embracing their memory as we carry on.

In a world too busy to understand our pain the group becomes a new home of sorts. A safe place where all can be our true selves.  The fog we live in begins to lift.  

Throughout this I’ve used the word “we” because at the end of each meeting I too have learned. I have been blessed by the gift each participant brings to the gathering. For that I am forever thankful!

BR

Living with Grief During the Holidays

GRIEF & THE HOLIDAYS

“Holidays are time spent with loved ones” was imprinted on our psyche from a young age. Holidays mark the passage of time in our lives. They are part of the milestones we share with each other and they generally represent time spent with family. They bring meaning to certain days and we bring much meaning back to them. But since holidays are for being with those we love the most, how on earth can anyone be expected to cope with them when a loved one has died? For many people, this is the hardest part of grieving, when we miss our loved ones even more than usual. How can you celebrate togetherness when there is none? When you have lost someone special, your world loses its celebratory qualities. Holidays only magnify the loss. The sadness feels sadder and the loneliness goes deeper. The need for support may be the greatest during the holidays. Pretending you don’t hurt and or it is not a harder time of the year is just not the truth for you. If it wasn’t harder you probably wouldn’t be here. You can and will get through the holidays. Rather than avoiding the feelings of grief, lean into them. It is not the grief you want to avoid, it is the pain. Grief is the way out of the pain. There are a number of ways to incorporate your loved one and your loss into the holidays.

Just Remember

Holidays are clearly some of the roughest terrain we navigate after a loss. The ways we handle them are as individual as we are. What is vitally important is that we be present for the loss in whatever form the holidays do or don’t take. These holidays are part of the journey to be felt fully. They are usually very sad, but sometimes we may catch ourselves doing okay, and we may even have a brief moment of laughter. You don’t have to be a victim of the pain or the past. When the past calls, let it go to voice mail…it has nothing to say. You don’t have to be haunted by the pain or the past. You can remember and honor the love. Whatever you experience, just remember that sadness is allowed because death, as they say, doesn’t take a holiday.

Even without grief, our friends and relatives often think they know how our holidays should look, what the family should and shouldn’t do. Now more than ever, be gentle with yourself. Don’t do more than you want, and don’t do anything that does not serve your soul and your loss.

Days Leading Up To Christmas, and or the New Year


These are the often the most challenging of all. Rather than attempting to avoid the feelings of grief during this time, I suggest leaning into them, embracing them, sharing them with others.

It is not the grief you want to avoid, it is the pain. Grief is the way out of the pain.



Grief is our internal feelings and mourning is our external expressions.



Embrace your grief by giving it a time and a place

Before the Holiday Dinner
· Share a prayer about your loved one.

· Light a candle in remembrance of your loved one.

· Create an online tribute for them. (i.e.: Face book or YouTube)

· Share a favourite story about your loved one.

· Have everyone tell a funny story about your loved one.

· At your place of worship remember them in a prayer or bulletin.

· Chat online about them with friends or group talk sites.




Ways to Cope

Have a Plan A/Plan B – Plan A is you go to the Christmas Day or Christmas Eve dinner with family or friends. If it doesn’t feel right, have your plan B ready. Plan B may be a movie you both liked or a photo album to look through or a special place you went to together. Many people find that when they have Plan B in place, just knowing it is there is enough. Speak to the Host and let them know you might leave quietly if need be.

Yes, you can cancel the “Traditional Happenings”. If you are going through the motions and feeling nothing, cancel them. Take a year off. They will come around again. For others, staying involved with the Holidays is a symbol of life continuing. Let the Holiday routine give you a framework during these tough times.


Try the Holidays in a new way. Grief has a unique way of giving us the permission to really evaluate what parts of the Holiday Traditions you enjoy and what parts you don’t. Remember, there is no right or wrong way to handle the Holidays in grief. You have to decide what is right for you and do it. You have every right to change your mind, even a few times. Friends and family members may not have a clue how to help you through this period and you may not either.

Do’s and Don’ts

· Do be gentle with yourself and protect yourself.

· Don’t do more than you want, and don’t do anything that does not serve your heart, your soul and honour your loss.

· Do allow time for the feelings to happen.

· Don’t keep feelings bottled up. If you have 1000 tears to cry don’t stop at 457.

· Do allow others to help. We all need help at certain times in our lives.

· Don’t ask if you can help or should help a friend in grief. Just help. Find ways; invite them to group events or just out for coffee.

· Give extra attention to the children. Children are too often the forgotten grievers during these busy times..

Personal Activities that might help

· Write a love letter

· Smile a smile for them (in a mirror if you can)

· Light a red candle

· Tell someone about them.

· Find ways to honour and remember your loved one.


· Think of ways to involve children in all activities of remembrance.

· Donate time or money in your loved ones name.

· Do something you loved to do together on that day.







It isn’t as important how you remember; you honour them and yourself by the fact that you remember…..




BR

Christmas... for some Sad becomes Sadder / Lonely becomes Lonelier

http://www.whatsyourgrief.com/first-holiday-worst-holiday/
Grief knows no timeline; it just shrinks in intensity.

Our first Christmas without you....

Our first Christmas without you....

Our first Christmas without you....

A Christmas Message from Heaven.

Posted by Steve Wentworth

  

 'Steve Wentworth' author. 

For most of us, Christmas is a time for joy, laughter and spending quality time with friends and family. But this time of year is often the most difficult and painful for anyone coping with bereavement.

The grief we feel when losing someone close to us is unlike any other feeling. Words cannot even begin to scratch the surface or do justice to the sorrow we endure. Nothing ever prepares us for the utter despair and Christmas just seems to make our loss all the more poignant.

There is nothing wrong with grieving. Grief is a natural process that human beings and many animals need to go through. But why does grief sometimes seem to last so long? 

We grieve because we deeply miss someone who was a big part of our lives. Grief not only happens when someone dies, it also occurs when a relationship breaks down or a person is 

no longer a part of our lives. Whether the person we have lost is physically alive or not, the feeling can be exactly the same and just as intense.

Grief is a feeling unlike any other. It is one of immense incompletion and despair. Our hearts ache with the deep loss we feel for that special person and we long for the emptiness to be filled with their presence again. We long to physically embrace them in our arms once more, to hear their voice, touch their skin and smell their scent one more time.

When they were with us, we loved them so much that they carved a chasm deep in our hearts. But now they are gone, even the thought of beginning to move on without them seems an impossible task and even disloyal to their memory. So instead of looking for peace, we sit on the edge the chasm they carved, staring longingly for them, but instead, all we see is the vast, cold void of emptiness. The chasm in our hearts no longer becomes associated with the deep love we felt for them, it becomes a ‘Chasm of Grief’. This ‘Chasm of Grief’ provides us with constant, painful reminders of the person we lost. But to have a reminder of them, no matter how much it hurts, feels better than having no reminder at all. This is how the Chasm of Grief begins to consume us.

Sometimes, we try to cope with the pain by shutting ourselves away, especially if others seem to be coping better with their grief than we are. But we are all different, and the ways in which we manage our loss are personal and unique to each individual. 

Occasionally, we reach out to others. We want someone to listen to us talk for a while and acknowledge our grief without judgment. However, this is when we hear that oh so familiar phrase, 'Give it time.'  

‘Give it time’, is one of those well-intentioned pieces of advice frequently offered to us whether we asked for advice or not. To be fair, even if the people we turn to have also lost someone close at some point in their lives, most do not know what to say to help you through your time of need. Saying ‘Give it time’, fills up some of that awkward silence. But most of all, it allows them to walk away from the conversation feeling as though they have helped you out, when the only thing you really wanted, was for someone to just sit down with you and listen without saying a word.

But you know what? I hear from so many people who are hurting just as badly as they did when they first lost their wife, son, mother, father, daughter, husband, step parent, nephew, grandfather, grandchild, grandmother, niece, aunty, best friend, uncle, partner... ten, twenty or even thirty years ago and longer. Time does NOT always make things better and time is definitely NOT guaranteed to heal the pain or take away your grief.

So I'm not going to patronize you and suggest that you 'Give it more time'. Instead, I just want to convey one message.
 

What I am about to share with you does not require any faith in God. Whether you believe in an afterlife, or even if you don't, this message is just as much for atheists as it is for believers of all faiths and traditions. While faith provides many billions of people with enormous comfort, the truth is, faith is not the important factor and faith has never been a requirement for coming to terms with your loss. In my experience, there is only one factor that truly matters, and this is the universal key to making the pain of losing someone a little easier to bear.

Do you remember the 'Chasm of Grief' we were staring into? Well, the reason why it feels so bad when we stare into this deep, dark void of emptiness, is because there is nothing. It is a lifeless abyss. It is cold, dead and silent. This deathly silence just hurts us even more, reminding us of their death and the silence we have endured every single day since we lost them. Even though it hurts, we still cling to the grief because the pain is such a potent reminder of our loss. But that is what the ‘Chasm of Grief’ does. It tricks us into clinging to the loss, rather than remembering the person. This is why grief feels so empty, lifeless and hopeless. The empty ‘Chasm of Grief’ has the power to fill us with such a dreadful, hollow sadness, that in some cases, the pain of grief can last for years or even decades.

So how do we overcome the power of the Chasm of Grief? Before you feel the pull to stare once more into the ‘Chasm of Grief’, write down some happy memories of the person who is 

no longer in your life. Do it now.

Think of their smile, their face, how you held them, the sound of their laughter or something you did together. Whether the memories make you cry, laugh or smile, write them all down on a piece of paper. Have you done it? Now, fold the paper up and keep it with you at all times.

As you begin to dread the approach of Christmas and your thoughts start wandering ever closer toward the edge of the ‘Chasm of Grief’, unfold the piece of paper and read what you have written on it. Allow your mind to focus on those memories. Allow those memories to fill your consciousness. Let them make you smile, or even shed a few tears. When you do this, it’s important that you connect with the memory of the person, rather than the feelings of loss. Relive those special moments as if they were still with you. Feel the joy and love. As you connect with the memories, instead of the loss, you will begin to feel the universal key to managing grief coming to the forefront of your awareness. So what is this 'universal key'?

When you are grieving for someone, it is because of the love you feel for them. You don’t require a spiritual faith to believe in love. An atheist who is grieving for the loss of a loved one believes in love. Even though they cannot prove their love ever existed, they know that the love they have for that person is without a shred of doubt, absolutely real.

So rather than staring into the emptiness of the ‘Chasm of Grief’ this Christmas, each time you immerse yourself in the happy memories you once shared with the person you have lost, instead of the cold, lonely, emptiness, you feel the strength of the love you shared with this person.

And you know what? The love you are feeling, as you remember your loved one, is just as strong as when they were physically here with you. You see, love is unbroken by death or by distance. It remains intact and even has the ability to continue to evolve and grow stronger.

Love is so immensely powerful that when you recall those happy memories, it is as if someone is physically surrounding you in their warm embrace. When you relive the love you share with your loved one, rather than recalling the loss, the love begins to pour into the void of emptiness left by grief, over time gradually replacing the cold, empty, darkness of loss, with the warmth and light of love.

Unlike the emptiness of the ‘Chasm of Grief’, love is very much alive. As long as your love lives on, your loved one lives on with you.

Love transcends death; it is the bridge that connects us, an unbreakable bond. The love you 

are feeling right now as you remember them, that love IS your loved one. Through your darkest hours, they were embracing you all along with their love... holding you, comforting you, and 

living on in your heart.

Through love, we live forever...

...because love NEVER dies.

Children Don’t Always Live

Children Don’t Always Live

By JAYSON GREENE OCT. 22, 2016

My daughter, Greta, was 2 years old when she died — or rather, when she was killed. A piece of masonry fell eight stories from an improperly maintained building and struck her in the head while she sat on a bench on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with her grandmother. No single agent set it on its path: It wasn’t knocked off scaffolding by the poorly placed heel of a construction worker, or fumbled from careless hands. Negligence, coupled with a series of bureaucratic failures, led it to simply sigh loose, a piece of impersonal calamity sent to rearrange the structure and meaning of our universe.

She was rushed to the hospital, where she underwent emergency brain surgery, but she never regained consciousness. She was declared brain-dead, and my wife and I donated her organs. She was our only child.

The incident was freakish enough to be newsworthy. Requests for interviews flooded our email while we still were at our daughter’s bedside; television trucks trawled Manhattan looking for us. When we left the hospital, I caught my daughter waving at me from the corner of my eye. A picture of her from my wife’s Facebook page was on the cover of The Daily News.

Over the next year, we became another local story about the quiddities of fate, the heartless absurdity of life in the big city. “Oh, you’re that couple,” a father said gravely when we introduced ourselves at a support group for bereaved parents. The attention was both bewildering and gratifying. We met couples whose children had died at home, in private, with only their shattered family to help them cope. There was succor to be drawn from all this awe and care, and I found myself leaning into it as often as I pushed it away.

Seven weeks ago, our second child was born; a son, Greta’s younger brother. They would have been exactly three and a half years apart. With his birth, I have become a father to a living child and a spirit — one child on this side of the curtain, and another whispering from beneath it. The confusion is constant, and in my moments of strength I succumb to it. I had a child die, and I chose to become a father again. There can be no greater definition of stupidity or bravery; insanity or clarity; hubris or grace.

Lying on the floor, talking to my son in soothing tones and jingling bright, interesting-looking things in front of his eyes, as I did with his sister, I yearn for him to feel his sister’s touch. Then I remember with a start: We were never going to have him. We always said Greta was enough — why have another kid? I gaze in awe. He wouldn’t exist if his sister had not died. I have two children. Where is the other one?

Becoming a parent is already a terrifying process. After a child’s violent death, the calculations are murkier. What does my trauma mean for this happy, uncomplicated being in my care? Will it affect the choices I make on his behalf? Am I going to give a smaller, more fearful world to him than I gave to Greta? Is he doomed to live under the shadow of what happened to his sister?

After Greta was born, my wife, Stacy, and I had a habit of checking to make sure she was still breathing. During that time, we ran into a fellow parent, a mother of two children, and Stacy made a nervous joke about it. The woman smiled. “They’re always breathing,” she said.

I imagine it’s the same for all parents. You begin to adjust to the reality of your child’s continuing existence. Their future begins to take shape in your mind. They’re always breathing, you tell yourself.

Life remains precarious, full of illnesses that swoop in and level the whole family like a field of salted crops; there are beds to tumble from, chairs to run into, chemicals and small chokeable toys to mind. But you do not see death at every corner, merely challenges. The part of you that used to keep calculating the odds of your child’s existence has mostly fallen dormant. It is no longer useful to you; it was neveruseful to the child; and there is so much in front of you to do.

At 2, your child is a person — she has opinions and fixed beliefs, preferences and tendencies, a group of friends and favorite foods.

What happens when that child is swiftly killed by a runaway piece of everyday environment, at the exact moment you had given up thinking that something could take all of this away from you?

When I am on the playground years from now, watching my son take a fall from the monkey bars, I might not panic. But some part of me will remember: A heartbeat can stop.Hearing a heartbeat for the first time during the ultrasound, and then watching doctors shine light on unresponsive pupils two years later, you stop thinking of a heartbeat as a constant, and more as a favorable weather condition. Now I am a reminder of the most unwelcome message in human history. Children — yours, mine — they don’t necessarily live.

When I realized Greta would not live, I wanted to die so purely, and so simply. I could feel my heart gazing up at me quizzically, asking me in between beats: “Are you sure you want me to keep doing this?” But I found I could not give the order.

Since my son was born, I’ve caught myself making concrete plans for my suicide if he were to die. I will draft a letter to my parents, or even tell them face-to-face. “I’m going to meet my children,” I will say. If the world takes this one, I am not meant to be here. It is a frightening thought because it is so logical. How would anyone argue me out of it? Who would even try?

I do not believe anything bad will happen to him in his infancy. It makes a sort of sense: Nothing bad happened to Greta as an infant. I do not wake up in the middle of the night to check on him. I do not even flinch when I hand him to others and watch them grapple awkwardly with his floppy neck.

However, some part of me is grimly certain he will die at 2. The evidence is all on my side: 100 percent of my children have suffered this fate. Even as I carry my baby into the world — this crowded, clamorous, septic world — I am holding a breath that I will not release until he turns precisely one day older than Greta.

During my son’s birth, I leaned into the crook of my wife’s neck while she pushed, just as I did when Greta was born. I closed my eyes and smelled the gauze from her deathbed. My boy came out sickly white, with the umbilical cord knotted around his neck, and he was silent for an eternal second before his gurgling cry bubbled through his lungs and my wife clutched him and wept. “This is a miracle baby, I hope you understand that,” said our midwife. She was the same woman who had caught Greta and handed her to her mother; Greta had promptly let loose a tarry slick of meconium all over Stacy’s belly and wailed, her feet swiping feebly in it like a bird in an oil spill.

Children, hospitals, blood: It’s all a confused swirl of joy and agony. Somewhere in my subconscious, my daughter is on a scale, her birth weight being calculated; in the same moment, she is blue and cold and being carted away. All I am is a spectator: Her body is not mine to protect, not mine to save.

My wife and I are young still. With our son’s birth, we have committed to another round here on earth. My son will always have a dead sister; when I am 50, my heart will ache in this exact same way it does today. Children remain dead in ways adults do not, and on bad mornings, in the wrong light, everything from here on out feels like ashes.

Thankfully, I see it that way only in the margins. A breezy day, a good drink, my wife laughing, holding my son’s head to my chest — these things help dispel it. I look at my boy, a beautiful already-fattening baby, and this world, the one that senselessly killed my daughter, is benevolent once more.

I talk to him about his sister, whom I think he met before arriving. “Your daddy will always be sad your sister’s not here,” I tell him. “But you fill Daddy’s heart up with joy and he loves you more than everything.” I also want to say, but do not: I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ll never be the same father I was before. I’m sorry that you will live with me, to some degree, in grief.

But life is good: Greta loved it. She found every second of it delightful, and at its best when appreciated with others. I think of her hand touching my cheek and I muster up every drop of bravery I can: “It is a beautiful world,” I tell him, willing myself to believe it. We are here to share it.

Jayson Greene (@Jayson_Greene)

Bloggers Note: Thank you to Jayson for his courage to honour his daughter with their story. 

Legacy Activities for families

Legacy activities are a meaningful way for families to
share moments together when someone in the family
is with an advanced illness.

• Create a scrapbook with pictures/keepsakes related to a time in their life

• Create a photo album of favourite photos with accompanying captions

• Compile a binder of favourite recipes

• Compile a collection of favourite songs or hymns

• Create a quilt made out of favorite T-shirts or other fabric items

• Hand-prints of you and/or your loved ones in plaster or on paper

• Write cards for a future birthday, holiday or special occasion

• Write a poem or a song created specifically for your loved one(s)

• Plant a tree

• Book of ME – write a letter/story to your family that shares your values, 

         beliefs,  accomplishments, life lessons, etc.

Adapted from

Hospice of Waterloo Region

Newsletter

http://www.hospicewaterloo.ca/resources/legacy-activities/

Who I was is gone.... WHO AM I NOW?

(Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They grow up and move on. Move away and start their family. The life their parents knew was defined with children at home. Now empty nesters  the parents create a new role as parents and a couple; a new definition of who they are. A different role that is a mixture of sadness for what is no more and questions about what is to be.)  

“The grief process is not only about mourning the loss, but getting to know yourself as a different person”.

The same redefinition of “who am I now?” occurs in grief.

“You lose yourself, your identity, meaning, purpose, values, your trust”.

• After years of devoting all your spare time as a care-giver to a loved one, “now what do I do,who am I now? ”
• As a parent, “now who am I?” What do I say when people ask “Do you have any children?”
• A life long friend dies and you feel lost, not knowing anyone you trust as much to share your deepest secrets with.
• If a brother / sister dies, you ask; “Am I still a brother / sister?”
• When a grandparent dies you might feel your family history goes with them. Children's first experience with human death is often when this happens.

There is a need to redefine who you are.

Not for others, but for yourself.

A new definition of “WHO AM I NOW?”

Here are five suggestions on how to try and redefine who you might become.... (the essence of you).

NO NEED TO RUSH: First you need to give yourself time to grieve. Seek out local Grief Groups or Community Grief Counselling. You will know when you are ready to give consideration to these suggestions. 

HOBBIES
Have you ever wanted to try a hobby but never had the time? (Scrap-booking, painting, singing, story teller, photography) Find a friend with a similar interest and join a group together.

VOLUNTEERING is an excellent way to meet new people. Cook for people who live alone; be a hospital friendly visitor; join a community committee planing special events.... give back and feel good for having assisted others in some way.

ADULT EDUCATION
Sign up for a general interest course or to get a certificate or degree.

TRAVEL is an option as well. Visit family who live far away from you. Friends you have not seen for a long time.

FAITH BASED ACTIVITIES
Join a church or if you already belong, see which groups meet, when and what they do.

There are resources in most communities, a quick note to myself and I will do some homework, sending you the information. You can also seek out your local volunteer bureau for a list of organizations.

The hardest step in regaining the sense of control is to ask for assistance. 

This is not a weakness, it is a strength.

Will my loved one communicate with me?

Studies have found 60+ percent of people who have had a loved one die (parent, spouse, child, or sibling) have felt their presence one or more times after their death. Some soon after and for a short period of time, while others said the experiences lasted on and off for several years.

40+ percent said they heard their loved one talking to them or singing their favorite song.

All bereaved replying said they found great comfort in these events, as it reinforced that their loved one was at peace and the spirit or essence of the person was still alive.

After the death of a loved one there are many different beliefs about how a deceased communicates with you to say..... 

"I am here with you and I'm O.K.". 

A cardinal is a representative of a loved one who has passed. When you see one, it means a loved one is visiting you. They have also been known to make an appearance during times of celebration or sadness.. 

Seeing a butterfly fluttering around you when normally there are none.
This ls your loved one saying "HELLO!"

Finding "Dimes" or "Quarters" around your house where they should not be  and their presence cannot  be explained. 

Strange light or shadow in the night, a picture frame moved, or an item falling off a flat surface. All have been reported by people after their loved one died.

Dreams are the biggest reported means of communication with a loved one. They interact by sharing stories, asking for guidance, or talking about a special event that has or will soon happen.

What ever you choose to believe please remember, the one who is grieving finds comfort in these happenings, it helps them travel their journey in a more peaceful way. They don't need "naysayers"...   they need someone to listen and acknowledge that these events have happened.  NOT to everyone who has lost a loved one, but some.

I

NOTES:

There are resources in most communities, you can also seek out your local volunteer bureau for a list of organizations that can assist you.