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Archive for March, 2011
“Don’t Cry for Me Daddy”
Below is a poem someone gave me after the death of my daughter. If I ever felt like I couldn’t cry, but I needed to let out the pain I was feeling, I would read this poem, it worked for me. I hear from a lot of dads that say they find it difficult to cry. Another thing I would do is sit down and write my children a letter. I would go into my home office, shut the door, sit down and just start writing. As soon as I would type the words “Dear Sweet Katie” or “Dear Sweet Noah” the tears would start to flow and would keep flowing until I was done writing the letter. This is just one idea incase you are having a difficult time crying. Anyone else have any ideas they would like to share?
Don’t Cry for Me Daddy
Don’t cry for me Daddy
I am right here
Although you can’t see me
I see your tears
I visit you often
Go to work with you each day
And when it’s time to close your eyes
On your pillow’s where I lay
I hold your hand and stroke your hair
And whisper in your ear
If you’re sad today Daddy
Remember I am here
God took me home
This we know is true
But you will always be my Daddy
Even though I’m not with you
I am Daddy’s little girl
We will never be apart
For every time you think of me
Please know I’m in your heart.
I love you Daddy!
Your Baby Girl
“Scary”
I recently sat down and generated a list of 30 words that could be used to describe grief. Obviously this list relates to my experience with grief, so I am interested to see if anyone else can relate with some of these words. I plan on doing a series of postings that will not only define these words, but expand on why I thought they would be good descriptors.
The second word I chose was:
Scary: Defined as causing alarm, fear, frightening.
I am not sure about everyone else reading this posting, but grief scared the hell out of me. I experienced things I had never experienced in my 38 years. After the death of my second child, I started experiencing episodes of depression, anxiety attacks, fear, thoughts of dyeing, uncontrollable tears and physically weeping (almost like convulsing) that didn’t produce tears. I also lost many things such as confidence, ability to focus, appetite and my fear of dying. I could go on and on about what I “gained and lost” as part of who I am. My point is that all of these “things” were scary to me because I couldn’t control them. I like being in control, especially when it comes to being able to control myself and my responses to my surroundings.
It took me a while, but I started to regain control, but it required me to do a lot of other scary things in order to start down the path of recapturing the out of control me. I started to go to a counselor, which was very scary to me since I had always thought that counselors were for people who were “crazy”. It was scary for me to admit that I had situational depression as a result my children dying. I had always thought depression as for weak people and I knew I wasn’t weak. Of course now I have a much better understanding of the counseling “stigma” and depression, but for a while, I felt like I was a failure because I didn’t have it under control and that was scary to me.
I could also see the physical impacts that grief was having on me. Because I wasn’t able to eat without gagging or throwing up, I watched myself lose a lot of weight, quickly. When I would look in the mirror, I could see someone, but it didn’t look like me, it looked like someone who was slowly dying. I could actually feel myself dying on the inside and that also scared me.
How about you, what have you found to be scary in your grief journey?
“The Mourner’s Bill of Rights”
The Mourner’s Bill of Rights
by Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D.
Though you should reach out to others as you do the work of mourning, you should not feel obligated to accept the unhelpful responses you may receive from some people. You are the one who is grieving, and as such, you have certain “rights” no one should try to take away from you. The following list is intended both to empower you to heal and to decide how others can and cannot help. This is not to discourage you from reaching out to others for help, but rather to assist you in distinguishing useful responses from hurtful ones.
1. You have the right to experience your own unique grief: No one else will grieve in exactly the same way you do. So, when you turn to others for help, don’t allow them to tell what you should or should not be feeling.
2. You have the right to talk about your grief: Talking about your grief will help you heal. Seek out others who will allow you to talk as much as you want, as often as you want, about your grief. If at times you don’t feel like talking, you also have the right to be silent.
3. You have the right to feel a multitude of emotions: Confusion, disorientation, fear, guilt and relief are just a few of the emotions you might feel as part of your grief journey. Others may try to tell you that feeling angry, for example, is wrong. Don’t take these judgmental responses to heart. Instead, find listeners who will accept your feelings without condition.
4. You have the right to be tolerant of your physical and emotional limits: Your feelings of loss and sadness will probably leave you feeling fatigued. Respect what your body and mind are telling you. Get daily rest. Eat balanced meals. And don’t allow others to push you into doing things you don’t feel ready to do.
5. You have the right to experience “grief bursts”: Sometimes, out of nowhere, a powerful surge of grief may overcome you. This can be frightening, but is normal and natural. Find someone who understands and will let you talk it out.
6. You have the right to make use of ritual: The funeral ritual does more than acknowledge the death of someone loved. It helps provide you with the support of caring people. More importantly, the funeral is a way for you to mourn. If others tell you the funeral or other healing rituals such as these are silly or unnecessary, don’t listen.
7. You have the right to embrace your spirituality: If faith is a part of your life, express it in ways that seem appropriate to you. Allow yourself to be around people who understand and support your religious beliefs. If you feel angry at God, find someone to talk with who won’t be critical of your feelings of hurt and abandonment.
8. You have the right to search for meaning: You may find yourself asking, “Why did he or she die? Why this way? Why now?” Some of your questions may have answers, but some may not. And watch out for the clichéd responses some people may give you. Comments like, “It was God’s will” or “Think of what you have to be thankful for” are not helpful and you do not have to accept them.
9. You have the right to right to treasure your memories: Memories are one of the best legacies that exist after the death of someone loved. You will always remember. Instead of ignoring your memories, find others with whom you can share them.
10. You have the right to move toward your grief and heal: Reconciling your grief will not happen quickly. Remember, grief is a process, not an event. Be patient and tolerant with yourself and avoid people who are impatient and intolerant with you. Neither you nor those around you must forget that the death of someone loved changes your life forever.
“Relentless”
I recently sat down and generated a list of 30 words that could be used to describe grief. Obviously this list relates to my experience with grief, so I am interested to see if anyone else can relate with some of these words. I plan on doing a series of postings that will not only define these words, but expand on why I thought they would be good descriptors. The first word I chose was:
Relentless: Defined as unyieldingly severe, strict, or harsh; unrelenting.
There were days I would fight as hard as I could to push my emotions back down. Some days I would win this battle and some days I would not. Eventually it would wear on me to the point that I would have to deal with whatever it was that was bothering me at the time. Grief would not be ignored.
After the death of my daughter Katie, I had the strength to ignore it for long periods of time; in fact, I pushed it deep inside of me for almost a year, never speaking of it. I thought I had won the war, but little did I know a new battle was about to be unleashed on me. Just when I let my guard down, it pounced on me again and this time, it would not let up. It was fierce and it started to really kick my ass about the same time I experienced the death of my son Noah. I had no more fight left inside of me and I was sent into a tail spin I never thought I could pull out of, but I did. I finally gave in and surrendered to grief and the process of recovery. If it wasn’t for grief’s relentless attempts of making me stop and acknowledge what I had gone though, I would still be running and hiding from the pain which would have ultimately prolonged the process we all must travel one way or the other.
Anyone have other thoughts on this word?




