Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Poem # 15























When there
is
no one
there
for
me.

When I
must
face
her death
all alone.

When I
find
her dead
again & again.

That is when
I
know
who
I am.




Sunday, May 25, 2014

How to Have A Life After A Death





  Her death is
no
guarantee,
no insurance,
that I
will
not
lose again.

There is no
way
to
protect myself
from
further loss.

That is deeply
frightening.

What do
I
do with
that?

Well,
I guess
I
notice
how precious
today is
&
how deeply
I love you.

 How to have a life after a death


It ain’t easy.  Because your life is shattered and it’s hard to find any intact parts, like after a tornado has hit, let alone put it back together. 

First is pain management; how do you treat a wound that doesn’t show or bleed?  How do you explain a wound that is all consuming and never ending?  How do you ask for relief when people say, ”You should be over it by now.”   

Well, you scream, keen and wail regardless of what anyone says.
Some people use drugs or alcohol, which delays it for a while, but will not heal the wound.

Second is comfort; that is in short supply as few others can tolerate that level of raw emotions.  Everyone gets tired of the constant grieving; including the bereaved person, yet it still goes on.  Find someone that can hang in there with you and your shattered soul.

Third is that you need an advocate because you can’t defend yourself or focus on much when you are in such emotional shock.

Fourth, understand that you are not crazy or abnormal; you are simply in profound grief. When someone is so out of control it freaks others out.  We try to hide grief as a culture because it irrevocably changes those who do grieve.

If you can’t grieve, you can’t heal.

As the little flower proves, life does  return over and over, and so will you.





Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Odds & Ends


Odds & Ends

In the beginning
I
felt overwhelmed
&
longed for
the time
I
would
be healed.
Now that
I am.
I
feel strange,
as though
I
got rid of her
somehow.

I remember a long period of time when I was looking for a target; someone to blame, and something to hit. I aimed my unhappiness at several places over the years—her school, the drug dealer, her father—anyone but myself. That was the flip of the guilt regarding my own responsibility. I was never able to sustain that focus because it really didn’t help, nor did I feel any better. It finally occurred to me that there would never be any restitution. Nothing could equal that loss nor make me whole again. Ultimately, it felt like an avoidance of the truth not to acknowledge that my loss was final. Blaming anyone was not going to bring her back. Another of those small choices slipped in almost unnoticed, until I realized I was less agitated, more at peace within.

As I sit here debating what else to say, I wonder if writing this is like continually picking the scab off an old wound that I won’t let heal, or if it is like resetting a bone that never healed properly. I actually don’t know what healing properly should look or feel like for a loss of this nature.

What I have found most helpful over the years are those that chose to be straight with me. It is the silence and abandonment that adds to the pain. I always thought it was a hilarious statement for people to say, “I was afraid that I might upset you.” How much more upset can a person be? The protocols for funerals and mourning are pretty thin to nonexistent. Perhaps a word or two about the importance of funerals and graves would be appropriate here. Before Sharon’s death, I remember being very critical of funerals, cemeteries, and mourners. I thought it was a lot of fuss about nothing. I guess it is, for those who have not faced a death in the family. It is not really possible to convey bereavement to the non-bereaved.
The funeral is about the final good-byes and making the loss real. It is also a place to celebrate life. Without that there is no closure, which explains why the MIA-POW movement is still active. I have found her graveside a very important place to remember, grieve, and recover.
During the viewing I spent many hours with her body—touching and caressing her, and accepting the reality. There were many that did not want me near her and her coffin; fortunately, Morrie ran interference for me to make that possible. I still don’t understand the strange reaction of people to bodies. This was my child’s body and I was not afraid of or put off by her remains. I met with several of her friends during that time and they were wonderful. I have lost track of them over the years, so a salute to those of you who hung in during that time. I was always very touched by the number and variety of mementos that were left in her casket. Little treasures they had shared during the times together in Sharon’s life.


Thursday, April 24, 2014

In Loving Memory



In loving memory of my daughter, Sharon and all the beloved children that have died and left us so raw, baffled and a million other feelings.  I want to create for those left behind a safe place to grieve in honor of those children and their surviving families. 

The latest affront to our sensibilities and sense of purpose is the Korean ferry.  I noticed how quickly everyone turned away from those parents screaming and their intense distress.  They need to keen and wail, and a place to do their healing grief.

There are very few others that can tolerate and condone the intense pain and disruption that bereavement causes.  People mostly turn away, which makes the recovery even harder.

My idea is to have in every cemetery a place where families can grieve undisturbed by anyone.  I thought something on the order of a smoking booth that is designated especially for that purpose.

I found those times when I could grieve at her graveside undisturbed very healing over time.  I have talked to others who found each other at the cemetery and began to turn to each other for support and comfort. 

Comfort is in short supply after the funeral.  This is as it should be as life does go on.  So the best support is other bereaved people and a place to grieve. 

An important part of recovery iis making sense of the loss.  That actually takes a long time, as there is no sense in losing those we love and are deeply attached to. 

Reworking our life without that beloved person is a daunting task. It is also lonely and disrupts other relationships that must do the same work, like spouses, friends, and the whole world that is forever different. 

The phrase “I have to do it for myself, but I can’t do it alone” comes to mind.  It is that deep aloneness and alienation that is so hard to come back from.

Finding each other seems to hold the most solace.  I feel this is because we are so changed that the old rules, habits and expectations just don’t work anymore.  Everything is remembered in relationship to “Before the Death and After the Death”.
It is a strange new life.

If this sounds interesting to you and you have the energy to get back involved please contact me and we will start a new way together.

arleah.shechtman@gmail.com


Monday, April 14, 2014

Today


My journey back from a puddle by her grave has been possible because Morrie Shechtman wouldn’t allow me to die with her. He prevented that desire in me by caring enough to keep challenging me. That I chose to let that happen is why this story is thirty-plus years old. I am forever grateful for our partnership. Throughout these years we have been through many other challenges, losses, and hard times. All this has been easier with Morrie on my side and by my side. He has never wavered from his faith in my value and in me. He is the only person that has hung in with my terrible struggle to recover, year after year, decade after decade. He has insisted over the years that my poems and story can be helpful to others. This is my attempt to fulfill his faith in me.



Today
I chose the casket
To bury my child in

Pink satin pillow
White velvet trim

Her hands folded on her breast
With my heart held entwined

Today
I had to decide
What tomb, metal or wood

How can a mother be reduced
To raw, primal agony and ever get up again?

Strong arms hold me up
Brave hearts help me choose

And because I have you to come back to
I make it through
Today


Monday, April 7, 2014

Ten Years Out


This has always been the tension; the terrible grief countered by the healing thrust. Ten years out was sort of nowhere land. The grief still dominated much of my thinking and feelings. I was beginning to back off from mentioning my bereavement with new acquaintances because it just didn’t come up as often. Time does make a difference. I had found Compassionate Friends and other support groups helpful for quite a while, but at some point I just moved on. I remember so many other parents during that time. One mother I got to know pretty well captured the longing of most of us. Her eighteen-year-old son was killed trying to beat a train at the crossing. She so wanted to go back and do that day over. She had a thousand things that, if she had done or not done, would have changed the timing and he would still be alive. I, too, have wished that, over and over, just one small thing done or said differently would have changed things. That was the topic of conversa- tions for years, the “if onlys” and the “what ifs,” the terrible pain of wondering if it could have been different, but knowing it never would be. We often clung to each other like we were drowning, and I guess in a way we were. We were always searching for relief and redemption.

Hanging in is the greatest gift you can give a bereaved person.  Everyone gets sick and tired of the same old story, the same old grief, including the bereaved.  Still it goes on, and on and on.  The other gift is honesty.  When you just can't hear it one more time, please tell the person that "not today, maybe tomorrow, but not today." I urge bereaved people to keep a list of ten or so  that you can rotate through.  There is always someone on that list that can listen today.