Grief Drawings

I have personally experienced how powerful and helpful it can be, to draw pictures that express my grief.  This was especially helpful when my friends couldn’t cope with hearing about my son’s autopsy.  I can still recall how freeing it was to express that aspect of my grief, without causing distress to my friends.  This can also be a helpful thing to do with children.  Sometimes children are not able to verbalise their grief , but could express it through a picture.  Also, once a child has drawn a picture, he/she is often happy to talk about it.

A Dad’s perspective

WALKING WITH A LIMP

             As my wife Heather asks me if I could write this article – everything in me cries out, ‘Don’t go there!’  But I live in hope that our journey and experience of grief might be a source of encouragement for others who unwillingly find themselves on the same path.          

            As fathers, our God given role is to protect and supply the needs of our family.  When our son Rowen died one of the significant personal crises that I had to face was the fact that I was unable to protect him from the genetic heart condition that led to his death at the age of 14. 

            As men we are also conditioned that it’s our role to fix things.  With both of these characteristics I failed miserably.   I was unable to protect Rowen or save him from death.  And neither was I able to fix, change or control the events that led to his death. 

            Neither was I able to fix or change the pain and agony within my family or myself.  As a bloke, part of my identity, who I am, is tied up in how well I perform to fix and repair things that are broken.  I gain kudos, appreciation and a positive reputation by being able to repair something that’s broken. 

            The grief and tragedy of losing my son rocked me to my core because the inability to provide a solution or to mitigate the pain that my loved ones were experiencing, left me totally devoid of any confidence in myself – not just from socially accepted competencies but at a very, very deep personal level.  Not only had I lost confidence in what I could do but also in who I could BE. 

Life doesn’t allow for spending too much time dwelling on these things.  There are duties and obligations that need to be attended to and it becomes a matter of either sink or swim.  It didn’t take long before I realised that while there might be a handful of close friends who allowed me time and grace, the world at large, and especially my work environment, did not tolerate any degree of introspection, the demonstration of emotions or lack of focus on the job. 

            It would have been around five years after Rowen’s death before I started to gain any sense of confidence back in myself.  Even then, I can only attribute the moving back into a more ‘functional’ life, to a deep personal awareness of the nature of God, and the certainty of catching up with Rowen again in eternity.

            Ten years later, when I set aside time to reflect, I’m still overwhelmed with a sense of loss and unexpressed grief.  I guess what this means is, that I’ve had to learn to walk with a limp.

Ten years

In a few weeks, it will be ten years since we lost our son Rowen.  It still seems hard to believe sometimes. I know the truth of the fact that we never get ‘over it’.  I sometimes think I’ve learned more ways to deal with the pain as time has gone, but it still is deeply painful to declare, yet again, he’s gone.  A whole decade without our Rowie.  It still blows my mind.

Grief at Christmas time

Christmas time is another hard time for me as a bereaved parent.  Our son loved the whole deal.  The family time, gifts, the tree, the mysterious parcels, the special food, the camaraderie.  It really hits home when I go to buy the gifts and food for Christmas.  No need for the special things our child enjoyed.  The fact that our son is missing, puts a poignant touch on everything.  One positive is that I especially treasure memories made by my children who are still here with us.

Anniversaries of a child’s death

I’ve found that if I prepare something special to do in the weeks before my child’s anniversary of his death,  I manage to get through the day better.  Over the years we have tried a few ideas.  Helium balloons with messages texta’d on them.  Having a picnic at our child’s grave.  Lighting a candle on the table for the evening meal.  Putting flowers in a vase.  Having a cuppa with a friend who doesn’t mind if you talk or cry.    I’d love to hear other people’s ideas on how they get through a hard day.

Dealing with loved one’s belongings

Many bereaved parents have a huge struggle, dealing with their child’s belongings.

I certainly did.  It took me months to even be able to vacuum or dust my child’s room.

And it took me years to bring myself to dispose of his clothes.

Many things of our son’s, I still keep and treasure, eight years after losing him.

I wonder if others have a similar struggle with ‘mementoes’.      Heather.

Invitations to speak

Since writing my book on grief, I have been asked to speak at lots of different events, on the topic of grief.  This is a fulfilling way to share my story, and to help people who want to know how to care for people in grief.  I know I wanted stories from those who’d ‘been there’ rather than just theories.  I guess many others prefer that too!

Mementoes

It’s been 8 years since our son died.  After all this time I finally managed to remove from his bedroom wall, the cards he received from his last birthday.  His 14th.  He had blue-tak’d them there himself and I didn’t want to remove what he’d chosen to display.  However the blue tak was deteriorating and the cards were full of dust…so I took them down!  I still have our son’s rubbish bin, still full of the stuff he’d thrown in it.  Luckily, it was scrap paper, empty Coke cans and broken toys and stationery.  I wonder if other bereaved people keep ‘strange’ mementoes!

Meeting new people

It’s amazing how many people I’ve met since publishing my book.  Total strangers write to me via email, or ring me and tell me their stories about their own grief situations.  It is such a fulfilling part of having written my book on grief.

Bereaved siblings

I’ve heard that bereaved siblings are sometimes called ‘the forgotten mourners’.  It’s sad to think siblings are forgotten.  I wonder if there are any bereaved siblings who’d like to say how it is for them.