The Mourner’s Bill of Rights by Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D.

I remember feeling so very confused from all of the expectations I experienced after my husband died and then again when I lost my son. Some of those expectations were of my own making and others from people who had not walked the heartbreaking road of loss and debilitating grief.

It wasn’t until a wise older friend of mine said “Chrissy, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You need to focus your energy on just trying to survive right now.”

Those words were life giving to me. They helped release me from the guilt of feeling like I had to continue to be everything to everyone even though I was at a place where just taking the next breath was painful and exhausting. Little did I know my grief journey would have no end and I would have to continue to call upon that encouragement for many, many years after my son Christopher died.

I love the reminder that each of our grief journey’s, whether from the loss of a child, spouse, parent, etc., are unique to each of us. We share many commonalities in our grief journey but we have a right to walk through our grief in a way that is best for us.

The loss of my husband was different than the loss of my son. They are two distinct grief journey’s in my life.

The Mourner’s Bill of Rights by Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D., Dr. Wolfelt says:

“Though you should reach out to others as you do the work of mourning, you should not feel obligated to accept the unhelpful responses you may receive from some people. You are the one who is grieving, and as such, you have certain “rights” no one should try to take away from you. The following list is intended both to empower you to heal and to decide how others can and cannot help. This is not to discourage you from reaching out to others for help, but rather to assist you in distinguishing useful responses from hurtful ones.

1. You have the right to experience your own unique grief. No one else will grieve in exactly the same way you do. So, when you turn to others for help, don’t allow them to tell what you should or should not be feeling.

2. You have the right to talk about your grief. Talking about your grief will help you heal. Seek out others who will allow you to talk as much as you want, as often as you want, about your grief. If at times you don’t feel like talking, you also have the right to be silent.

3. You have the right to feel a multitude of emotions. Confusion, disorientation, fear, guilt and relief are just a few of the emotions you might feel as part of your grief journey. Others may try to tell you that feeling angry, for example, is wrong. Don’t take these judgmental responses to heart. Instead, find listeners who will accept your feelings without condition.

4. You have the right to be tolerant of your physical and emotional limits. Your feelings of loss and sadness will probably leave you feeling fatigued. Respect what your body and mind are telling you. Get daily rest. Eat balanced meals. And don’t allow others to push you into doing things you don’t feel ready to do.

5. You have the right to experience “grief bursts.” Sometimes, out of nowhere, a powerful surge of grief may overcome you. This can be frightening, but is normal and natural. Find someone who understands and will let you talk it out.

6. You have the right to make use of ritual. The funeral ritual does more than acknowledge the death of someone loved. It helps provide you with the support of caring people. More importantly, the funeral is a way for you to mourn. If others tell you the funeral or other healing rituals such as these are silly or unnecessary, don’t listen.

7. You have the right to embrace your spirituality. If faith is a part of your life, express it in ways that seem appropriate to you. Allow yourself to be around people who understand and support your religious beliefs. If you feel angry at God, find someone to talk with who won’t be critical of your feelings of hurt and abandonment.

8. You have the right to search for meaning. You may find yourself asking “Why did he or she die? Why this way? Why now?” Some of your questions may have answers, but some may not. And watch out for the clichéd responses some people may give you. Comments like “It was God’s will” or “Think of what you have to be thankful for” are not helpful and you do not have to accept them.

9. You have the right to treasure your memories. Memories are one of the best legacies that exist after the death of someone loved. You will always remember. Instead of ignoring your memories, find others with whom you can share them.

10. You have the right to move toward your grief and heal.Reconciling your grief will not happen quickly. Remember, grief is a process, not an event. Be patient and tolerant with yourself and avoid people who are impatient and intolerant with you. Neither you nor those around you must forget that the death of someone loved changes your life forever.”

I thought this was a beautiful reminder.

Much love,

Chrissy

My World Went Dark…

Today marks the 6th anniversary of the day my world went dark.  You would be 32 this year.  Your baby boy will turn 7 in ten days.

The day you were born was filled with hope and joy.  Hope for my future at the young age of 18 and hope for yours.  I held you, my first born baby, and immediately I knew I would never know another love like yours.  Just like I will never know another love like your brothers in the moment I held each one of them.  You settled me.  You became an extension of me.

So wise and so very funny.  You were the voice of reason for your brothers and I, and the voice of risks as well.  You lived life wide open.  You loved the unloved. You stood up for the bullied and stood in the ditch with the homeless.  Your love never saw race, religion, or gender.  Your love only looked at the heart.  You were fiercely loyal to your friends even if their selfishness prevented them from reciprocating.

My world went dark March 21, 2016.  I can feel the anxiety and panic in the air as it rises up in my body.  I vacillated between knowing something was terribly wrong and hope.  

It is as if that day is now in slow motion.  The ring of the phone. Confusion, panic, trying to call you, trying to call anyone who might know where you were. Running over to your house, beating on the door….a glimmer of hope when a friend said you checked into your class at school.

I stood in your yard as the officer pulled slowly through our gate and crept down the drive.  I held my breath.  The car door opened, the officer stepped out.  His mouth was moving, but all I could hear as I dropped to the ground was the eerie wails of a dying animal.  I did not realize the gutteral sound shattering the silence was my own.  The smell of dirt was powerful mixed with tears and snot.

Numb, unable to put a thought together or remember where I put my glasses, looking for my phone while I was talking on it, moving from one piece of furniture to another, lack of desire to live, anger, exhaustion, confusion, my yes’ always looking like good intentions with a cancelation on the end.

It was as if those joyful, sometimes sad, sometimes hard, sometimes not, pieces of our family collided with an oversized fat cat that jumped in the middle of the table and turned it over destroying our family puzzle and spilling it all over the floor.  The violence of the fall reverberated through every inch of my being.

I would wake in the morning praying it was all a bad dream, then I would see the pieces of that puzzle scattered all over the floor.  Debilitating pain would sear my body as my mind reminded my heart the puzzle would never be able to be put together again.  

I could not imagine that there would ever be another puzzle.  I knew the pieces that were left would never ever fill the space of the piece of you but I had no idea, even in grief, it would reshape itself.  Some pieces fell away and new pieces were added.

I ache to hold you.  My tears still spill unexpectedly.  The memories I was so scared I would lose after your death are in vivid color.  I can hear your laugh, your sarcasm, your disgust.  I can see you making faces back at yourself in every mirror you encounter.  I see you in your baby.  He is a Mimi and a Momma’s baby just like you were.  He loves to read, play games and fact checks me often. 

I never knew a heart could break and experience great joy all in the same space until you went home to be with Jesus. I desperately wish you were still here in the middle of all the moments, but I am not sure I would ask you to come back if I could, unless, of course, it was for Jackson and Lauryn’s sake.  I am positive if I did you would laugh that big ole laugh like I had lost my mind.

I know you're whole and living your best life in heaven.  I am thankful for the promise of heaven and that I will see you again.  

I miss you son.

In memory of the first son to ever hear my heartbeat.

Christopher Parrish Barrow

Love,

Mom