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As a newly bereaved parent

As a newly bereaved parent I read an item the other day written about the need to talk freely about death and dying.
 
Something of a taboo subject in the society that we live in. After death and dying come grieving. If we as a society have trouble coping with death and dying, it follows that the people who grieve will often find it difficult, sometimes even impossible to find the responses from society that they so desperately require. Family and friends will rise magnificently in the days after the death and then the funeral - but what then ...? The newly bereaved face the days, months and years ahead - a lifetime of living without this significant other. I personally, have found the second year to be a lot harder than the first.


Our only daughter died aged 24 in June 1997 of Non Hodgkin's lymphoma and in early July of that year my husband wrote in his diary, "Mark and I went into city. Got Tiff's Birth Certificate" [scratched out] ... "Death Certificate - she had died from internal bleeding ... " You see, we'd been there, we had seen her die, but the brain still had trouble writing "Death" after our daughter's name.
There is remarkable familiarity in the heavy images of Emily Dickinson's poem:

"This is the Hour of Lead -
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow -
First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go - ".
We who grieve want a lot. Nothing will bring our loved one back; but if we can't get that, we want your full attention. I have found much comfort in the person who is fully present to my grieving; who is nonjudgemental enough to take my gift of my deepest self and who can then give me her empathy and understanding. There is a new vulnerability about us and like the tender new shoots of a plant we are easily bruised.
 
 
 
The work of grief is hard work. Please bear with us, as your love, support and patience are major tools in our learning to live with our new circumstances. There are the elements of self-pity and quite often we'll probably appear unreasonably irritable and self-absorbed and you won't want to know us; but in the fullness of time we'll be able to rise stronger and wiser and in turn become the consoling friend.
 
I have been one of the more fortunate ones in finding a Bereaved Parents Group. Here I gain sustenance and support from parents who know exactly how it is. Sometime after our daughter died I went to a seminar on grieving and never felt more isolated and alone. I had very little recognition of myself in the text-book like descriptions of the grieving process. This was quite possibly my fault as I was trying to achieve too much too quickly.
 
In a handout headed "Normal Grief Reactions" one of the reactions was "Hallucinations". Well, I wouldn't like to try telling that to the young woman whose face glowed with joy as she described seeing her dead child smiling cheerfully at the foot of her bed or the older man who heard his son calling softly "Dad", from another room. The rest of us sit in envy and ache for the opportunity to see our children again, be it apparition or hallucination. The only thing we have left is to believe that our children live on in that 'other place'; that these visions are real and we accept such "hallucinations" as gifts!
 
I live with the memory of the simple comfort of my daughter's presence and then paradoxically search for what that memory felt like. How with just a glance we would speak volumes, giggle together and our specialty of talking with funny accents ... she would call me 'Shirl'. All the times I thought her immortal.
 
My grief is also for all the expectations that died with my daughter - the expectation of any mother to see her daughter float down the aisle on her wedding day, the expectation of seeing her with her first child. The expectation and the natural curiosity of seeing her in middle age.
 
My heart swells and breaks again when I see that magic threesome ... a woman about my age out with her daughter and that precious grandchild in a stroller or the toddler clutching on to an outstretched hand. So please if ever you are the subject of a middle aged woman's tentative gaze as she hunches over her latta, hug your beautiful child, smile and walk on and believe in your bounteous good fortune.
 
Copyright © Helen Hickford
 


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