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Graduation Day

23 Sep

Yesterday was graduation day, but there weren’t caps or gowns; no turning of the tassel or playing of Pomp and Circumstance.  To the rest of the world, it was just another Wednesday night, but to us it was a milestone.  Yesterday, we officially “graduated” from grief counseling.

Steve and I began meeting with a therapist two months after Sammy passed away.  Although I think we were probably doing okay at that point considering what we had been through, it seemed like a logical thing to do.

I let Steve select the therapist and make the appointment.  We met with the therapist weekly, and after the first few appointments, I just felt like it wasn’t really helping me much, although Steve was really connecting and making good strides in his mourning.  After about 6 weeks, I began to see how each session was building one upon the other and gradually I felt the sessions were making a noticeable difference.

For the next 18 months, Steve and I would continue our weekly sessions with the therapist. Occasionally, we would need to reschedule due to a conflict on the calendar, and if we missed a week, I could definitely feel it.  But in time, we began scheduling appointments for every other week, then monthly.

Participating in counseling was therapeutic and was one of the best decisions we could have ever made.  A few weeks ago, I was thinking about our sessions, and it occurred to me that we’ve been in grief counseling for 2 1/2 years.  “2 1/2 years?”  My next question to myself was, “Why are we still in therapy?”  That’s when I knew that we were ready for graduation day.

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A childless mother

22 Sep

“Do you have children?” That’s an awkward question for me to answer at times. Typically, my response is, “I do. I have a son in heaven.” My answer may catch the other person off guard, but I’ve found that it’s the easiest way for me to say it.

Other times, the question comes as a part of a conversation, and that’s where it gets a little trickier. For example, a co-worker and I were chatting about back-to-school shopping several weeks ago, and she asked, “Do you have kids?” Relative to our discussion, I knew that she was really asking if I had kids needing school clothes, and I answered the question with the simple word “no”. As soon as the word escaped from my mouth, I realized that I didn’t like the way it sounded. I then corrected my response and explained about Sammy.

Last night, I attended the introductory session of a ladies’ Bible study at church, and each of the 40+ women there was asked to stand up, introduce herself, and tell a little something about herself. A majority of the women said their name and then told the number of children and/or grandchildren they had; thus, defining themselves as mothers.

I was one of the last to introduce myself, and as my turn grew closer and closer, I felt my anxiety increasing. At first, I considered just introducing myself and keeping it short and sweet, but that just didn’t feel right. Of the 40+ women there, probably one-quarter of them knew Sammy and were there with me at various times in my spiritual journey, so I felt like I needed to pay tribute to that. So, I took a deep breath and shared a little bit about Sammy’s life.

I came across a phrase recently that describes my parental role…”a childless mother”. I’m still a mother and I always will be, but I am without a child. Some days, I’m okay with that description; other days, not so much. On the positive side, I’m thankful that Sammy will never be a fatherless or motherless child because I know that to be absent from me is for him to be present with his Heavenly Father, and there’s no greater place to be!

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Waves . . .

5 Jul

I’ve been told that grief comes in waves, and I can testify to that.  There are days when it just laps at my feet, but there are others when a wave catches me off guard and knocks me off my feet.  This holiday weekend brought a tidal wave, and I wasn’t expecting it.  Throughout the weekend, I found myself remembering how we spent the 4th of July with Sammy through the years.  (And, you can read the record of those years documented on this site.)  On Sammy’s first 4th of July, we sat at his bedside in the NICU while he recovered from the surgery to receive his tracheostomy.

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