Beyond Tears: Living After Losing A Child - Softcover

 
9780312328290: Beyond Tears: Living After Losing A Child
Softcover
ISBN 10: 031232829X ISBN 13: 9780312328290
Verlag: Saint Martin's Griffin,U.S., 2005

Inhaltsangabe

The death of a child is that unimaginable loss no parent ever expects to face. In Beyond Tears, nine mothers share their individual stories of how to survive in the darkest hour. They candidly share with other bereaved parents what to expect in the first year and long beyond:

* Harmonious relationships can become strained
* There is a new definition of what one considers "normal"
* The question "how many children do you have?" can be devastating
* Mothers and fathers mourn and cope differently
* There simply is no answer to the question "why?"

This sharing in itself is a catharsis and because each of these mothers lost her child at least seven years ago, she is in a unique position to provide perspective on what newly bereaved parents can expect to feel. The mothers of Beyond Tears offer reassurance that the clouds of grief do lessen with time and that grieving parents will find a way to live, and even laugh again.

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

The book was written by bereaved mothers Carol Barkin, Audrey Cohen, Lorenza Colletti, Barbara Eisenberg, Barbara Goldstein, Madelaine Perri Kasden, Phyllis Levine, Ariella Long, and Rita Volpe in collaboration with Ellen Mitchell, a regular contributor to Newsday. Ellen lives on Long Island, New York.


The book was written by bereaved mothers Carol Barkin, Audrey Cohen, Lorenza Colletti, Barbara Eisenberg, Barbara Goldstein, Madelaine Perri Kasden, Phyllis Levine, Ariella Long, and Rita Volpe in collaboration withEllen Mitchell, a regular contributor to Newsday. Ellen lives on Long Island, New York.

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One
The Mourning After: The First Year
We were studies in contrast in those early months. We were filled with rage and yet we felt hollow. Our eyes brimmed with tears and yet they were empty. We could scream but speech came rarely, if at all. We were in excruciating pain and yet we were numb. Our self-esteem was beaten down and our trust shattered, but there was no one who could console us. There was no place to feel secure. We tried to crawl inside ourselves, but even that afforded us no place to hide. It was as if our very being died along with that of our children. We were and remain forever changed.
Carol: “I had an earlier photo of myself on my driver’s license. I looked at the eyes. I was a different person before Lisa died.”
Whatever we did during that first year was done from behind a veil of shock. Indeed, if we had to pick one word, one emotion that imbued our minds, our thoughts, our very being in that horrible first year, it would be shock. In some ways it obviously insulated us because we learned later that what we thought was the worst possible pain could from time to time become even more acute as our lives unfolded.
If there was any sensation at all that permeated the cocoon of shock in which we wrapped ourselves it was exhaustion. Our bodies were encased in a relentless fatigue that left us drained of energy and debilitated during the days, but refused to allow us the luxury of restorative sleep at night.
In that first year, we all refused to accept the finality of the death of our children, and some of us never will. It seemed that our existence had become surreal; it was as if we were each having an out-of-body experience. We wanted to wake up and find it was not true … . This could not be our life.
Phyllis: “In that first year, I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘killed.’ I talked about loss. Only later could I say that Andrea was alone in the car and she was killed by an eighteen-year-old who didn’t know what he was doing. Only fifteen years later did I request a copy of the medical examiner’s report.”
We speak of the “first year” but actually attempting to define a first year is disingenuous. There is no universal calendar by which to gauge grief. With the passage of time, we have learned that the reactions of the bereaved differ from person to person depending on where they are in their grief. Medical personnel, clergy, counselors well-meaning but misguided acquaintances may tell you that you can expect to feel better by such-and-such a date, but they are wrong. No such timeline exists.
Barbara G. : “There is no schedule for when you’ll start to feel better. It’s as if a scab forms over a wound; it can be reopened by the slightest trigger.”
Barbara E.: “It took me five years to even talk to my colleagues at work about it. Five years seemed to be some kind of a milestone for me.”
Maddy: “You have reached a new level when your first thought is of your child’s life rather than a replay of their death.”
Early on you will have to fortify yourself against insensitive comments from blundering friends, relatives and acquaintances, some of whom should know better and others who have no idea that you are bereaved. Even seemingly benign questions such as “how are you?” or “how was your summer?,” or comments such as “have a good day,” will stab into you and throw you off balance.
There is a cold chill that goes through your body each time some unthinking acquaintance tells you “it’s time to get over it.” There is no “getting over it.” You will carry every detail of what happened throughout every day of your life, and you will forevermore categorize all events as occurring either “before” or “after” your child’s death. The memory of your son or daughter is all that remains of them here on earth, and certainly if they were still alive you would think of them each day and worry about their well-being.
Audrey: “In fact, when your children are here you tend to take them for granted. When they are gone you think of them twenty-four hours a day.”
Ariella: “You almost expect your child to call you and awaken you from the nightmare.”
Each of us has had to find our own way to accept the reality of our child’s death. The best hope is that you will be able to hold close the beautiful recollections and let go of some of the dreadfulness.
In the first months, the pain is raw and there is no escaping it. There are a couple of unlikely places, however, where we all were able to achieve some small measure of release. Surprisingly, we took to the car and to the shower for refuge. Both were hideaways where we could scream out loud.
Rita: “In my car, I screamed at the top of my lungs with hair-raising shrieks. At the end of the school day, I looked forward to that moment. People would look at me and think I was singing to my car radio.”
Lorenza: “It was like an explosion, that moment, that privacy.”
Phyllis: “My tears made me drive blind.”
Ariella: “I screamed in agony in the shower and in the car. I couldn’t comprehend that Michael was really gone. I kept crying out, ‘This can’t be happening.’”
Barbara G. : “I felt free to stand in the shower and say whatever I wanted. The water would drown me out.”
Some of us drove recklessly. We raced red lights. We felt no fear; why should we—we had already experienced the worst that could happen. We drove as if on autopilot, not cognizant of where we were going or how we got there. We were never fully aware of the moment. As we drove, our minds raced to thoughts of our children and our pain. Sometimes our imaginations took over completely, and we thought we saw our children driving by. We saw them everywhere, but found them nowhere.
Ariella: “I remember sitting in the car and seeing someone who looked exactly like Michael, his hair, his hand movements. I didn’t want the light to change. I just kept staring at him. In my head it was Michael. I followed him for a while thinking if I could just stop him and convince him to go to a diner and talk to me I would have some connection to Michael. And then I thought to myself, ‘You’re crazy. Let it go.’”
Searching for our children, or for some indication of their existence, consumed much of our time in those early days and months. We heard their voices in our heads. We wanted to be able to reach out and touch them. We ached to feel their physical presence.
Lorenza: “I needed to hear Marc say Ma just the way he always did. I’d go to sleep at night hearing him say that.”
Rita: “I needed to touch my son. It was a universal feeling. We all constantly looked for our children, as if they were misplaced somewhere.”
Audrey: “We looked for signs. If a light flickered, it meant Jess was there. She was always there. She followed me.”
Ariella: “We all still believe they exist. I have to have a place where my child is. They don’t cease to exist. We need to know our kids are okay.”
Maddy: “One evening, my husband and I saw a young man who resembled Neill. He sat like Neill. He moved like Neill. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”
We sought help in...

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Verlag
Saint Martin's Griffin,U.S.
Erscheinungsdatum
2005
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
031232829X
ISBN 13 
9780312328290
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
174
Herausgeber
Mitchell Ellen
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