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Aileen

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Twenty Years of Grief

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Twenty years ago at this time, I was on maternity leave with my new baby girl, Lucy.  We were still reeling at the tragic events of September 11, which included my cousin’s death in one of the twin towers in New York city.  Thankfully, the holidays were approaching and our spirits were lightened by the festivities…Thanksgiving at my parents, Santa photos with my little boy and baby girl, a visit to see the amazing light display at the local zoo, and reveling in the joy of the season in anticipation of Christmas. 

During this time, I returned to work on December 11, 2001.  On that day, our lives changed in an unfathomable way.  Our three-month-old little girl died during her afternoon nap at the daycare.  It was ruled as SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).  I won’t replay the details because it is just too sad.  Her death broke me, my husband, our son, and extended family to pieces.  The scars are still in our hearts and souls. 

During this time each year, the scars start to ache and burn.  I am reminded of the emptiness in my arms, the hugs and kisses I can’t have, the isolation of grief, and the hopelessness of a future without her.  Tears stream from my eyes as I write this.  I still ask God, “Why did you take her?”, and I still have no concrete answer.  I have a lot of unanswered questions, mostly regarding what life would be like if she was alive today. 

Even though there are many things I don’t know, what I do know is that I have adapted to this life without Lucy here on earth.  Twenty years ago my spirit was crushed.  I don’t remember much of what happened in those first two years following her death. I recall that I slowly started looking forward to events with family and friends. I continued to work.  My husband, who quit his job to care for our toddler, eventually started a business.  We had a baby boy 18 months after Lucy’s death. Life continued along. Our boys went to school.  I advanced in my career and my husband grew our small business.  We experienced four miscarriages and the death of my parents.  Then, amazingly, we had another baby boy 10 years after Lucy’s death.  We kept moving forward. 

During all of life’s events, I eventually started volunteering for the SIDS Foundation of WA (now NISSA), and then joined its board of directors, became board president and, at some point, served as the Executive Director.  During the many years, I’ve spoken with grieving parents, taught Safe Sleep Education workshops throughout Western WA, written grants for education funding, served on an Infant Death Review committee, and lobbied local and national legislators on the importance of safe infant sleep and the need for funding to help reduce preventable infant deaths.  I like to think that the time I’ve spent volunteering with NISSA has been my “girl time” with Lucy.  She is with me through it all.   

The decision to live life purposefully, love our boys, volunteer to help others, and keep moving forward has been a good one.  So much has happened in 20 years and I am grateful for the life I have with my husband and three boys who are now 22, 18 and 10.  Even though I still don’t know the answers to many questions and I miss Lucy every single day, it gives me great comfort to believe that she is cheering us on in our work, play and service to others.  She is always with us, even if she is unseen. 

During this holiday season, please be kind to yourself, grieve as you need to, love those around you, be of service to someone else, and know that your child is always with you in some way…cheering you on as you move forward day-by-day. 

aileen

I miss you

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I just read the obituary for my 96-year-old aunt. It was a beautiful reflection on her life, and testimony
to the impact one person can make in this world. As my cousin said when she called to tell me about
her mom’s death, “96 years is a good run.” I’m grateful for her life and the happy memories our big,
Irish family had together. However, I cried when I read the list of her sisters and brothers, especially my
dad, that preceded her in death. I miss their smiling faces, their joyous laughter, their wit and wisdom,
and their ability to turn any gathering into the best party ever.
It also makes me miss my own daughter, my adorable Lucy Marie. She had a much shorter 103-day run
at life but it was filled with precious smiles, baby giggles, and a wonderment of the world that turned
our lives into a daily party. I can’t write a lengthy obituary about her but I can tell you that she made an
incredible impact on this world. This one, little girl is special to more people than I ever imagined. The
story of her short life and the circumstances of her sudden death have become a testimony of hope for
hundreds of heartbroken families and their friends. Lucy’s story, among many other infant death
accounts, has bolstered efforts to educate thousands of families, caregivers, healthcare providers and
the general public on the dire importance of infant safe sleep practices. I am deeply grateful for the
short time I had with Lucy and amazed by the impact she has made so far. I still miss her though…every
day.
I miss her and all my loved ones. As I ponder the happiest memories of our times together, it makes me
wonder if all my favorite people are having the best party ever in Heaven, and if my beloved Lucy is
enjoying what I’m missing. I hope so.

aileen

A Crash Course in Grief

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“The only education in grief that any of us ever gets is a crash course.”
I was trying to find inspiration for this blog when I came across this quote. It certainly rings true for me.
I have experienced various forms of grief over time but none so life-altering and educational as when my
daughter died suddenly on her first day of daycare in December 2001. This singular event forced me to
focus on grief education for 19 years, and counting. I have learned quite a bit but also learned that I
don’t know it all. None of us knows it all.
I have gleaned “pearls of wisdom” from others who have been schooled in grief. Each of the wise
people who have shared of themselves would say that they haven’t figured it out either. They also
learned from the “pearls of wisdom” shared with them. It seems a cycle of support and wisdom is the
common theme for dealing with grief.
I have also learned from textbooks, medical journals and professional counselors that provided me with
tools to identify grief and work through its stages. These resources are very helpful but do not offer
complete healing for grief. The truth is that nothing will ever fully heal a heart broken by the death of
one’s child. Those of us who have experienced this tragedy know this is true. It sounds hopeless,
doesn’t it?
I would have answered yes to that question many years ago but today I don’t. Please, don’t
misunderstand me. I still miss my little girl every day. I sometimes grapple with feelings of extreme
sadness. I can cry at a moment’s notice. I get short-tempered when I’m stressed out. I put on my
“happy face” through most of December. I still ask “why” and get mad at God occasionally. There is a
scar on my heart and it will never go away. I am a fellow traveler on the grief journey, but it doesn’t
consume me and bring me to tears, anger, avoidance and questioning the way it used to.
I have learned that I cannot change the past but I can do something now. I feel like I was called to be of
service to fellow grieving parents and families. I’m not exactly sure what I am supposed to do but I have
hope that my sorrow and grief will be used for good, somehow.
Although I would never have elected to study the subject matter of grief, I am grateful that I have
learned as much as I have and can use my knowledge to help others. I invite you to join me, and others,
to learn and share about your own grief. Please consider attending our virtual “Healing Together Social
Hour” each month. Our next event is February 10 from 7-8pm. Sign up on NISSA’s Facebook page!
I look forward to sharing a class on grief with you.

aileen2-1-300x225

Fooling, No Fooling

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Because humor brings us back to earth, it helps us to use well what is left to us even when we are keenly aware of what we have lost or been denied.  Only those who know how to weep can also laugh heartily. – Kathleen R. Fischer 

I repurposed this quote from the book, “Healing After Loss, daily meditations for working through grief.” (Hickman).  It’s such an appropriate thought in these Coronavirus times and in times of grief. It reminds me of the phrase, “Laughter is the best medicine.”  It was recently April Fool’s Day. My youngest son and I devised several pranks to play on Dad and big brothers who are currently quarantined with us.  It was fun to set-up the gags and wait for the traps to spring. It was especially fun since we planned for surprises to occur throughout the day. Normally we couldn’t do this.  Normally we would be at work, school and involved with other activities. But this year it was different because we could fool around throughout the day. It brought an element of joy, eagerness and surprise that we have not had during these weeks of monotony.  This foolishness was a welcome relief.  

This interlude of humor was medicine for the monotony of grief; grief over the loss of social time, grief over loss of unfulfilled plans, grief over the loss of control.  It’s interesting how the quarantine grief is like the grief over the loss of loved ones. It reminds me of the grief I experienced 18 years ago when my daughter, Lucy, died of SIDS.  I am always amazed how it can rear its head during times of frustration or sadness.  

After a break from the pranking, I took some much-needed prayer time.  In the quiet meditation I remembered that I wanted to find a specific article for a family member.  I started looking in my office files and on my bookshelves. It wasn’t there. I then thought it might be in the special drawers I keep for each of my children.  It wasn’t there either. However, this uninterrupted moment did allow me the rare time to look through the mementos I keep in Lucy’s drawer. It has baby shower cards and congratulatory birth cards, a deflated mylar balloon from a baby shower, hospital name bands, a couple of birth announcements, some painted, wooden letters in L-U-C-Y shapes, some special emails I printed and saved, and a loving letter from my mother (now departed) about her sorrow over Lucy’s death and pride in the way we were still persevering and loving. Of course, I cried.  It wasn’t sobbing. It was the familiar twinge of my heart longing for the supreme joy I had experienced when she was alive. It was the heaviness that sits on my chest when I know how sad her death is for my husband, her brothers, her aunts and uncles, and all our beloved friends.  

These moments quiet me, and all around me seems frozen for a few seconds.  Then I am brought back to the “now” …brought back to earth. On this day, the moment ended when I was hailed to prepare another prank.  My son was unaware that I had journeyed through my loss again. He was only concerned with the present day and bringing some laughter to the house.  Although I had been weeping just one minute prior, I was delighted for what was in front of me…for what wasn’t lost and what was to be gained. Only those who know how to weep can also laugh heartily.  No fooling.