AND FOR THIS I GIVE THANKS

I am acutely aware that autumn is here.  As I write this, the air coming through my window is crisper and the leaves are taking on the golden and scarlet hues of the season.  The shorts and tee shirts, which were the summer mainstay of the neighborhood children, are being replaced by sweats and flannels.  Pumpkins are replacing pink flamingos as lawn ornaments.  The beauty of nature is at its most spectacular.  It is unmistakably here, welcome or not. . .

This will be my fifth autumn, to be followed by my fifth holiday season without my daughter Nina.  I find that I am far enough along in my grief to find memories to smile about now, but still close enough to remember those first few years and the piercing stab of pain in my heart that went along with them.  Halloween, with memories of the costume party she threw when she was 10 years old, the major production she made out of what she would wear as a trick or treater, and as she got older, her enjoyment in passing out candy to neighborhood goblins.  Then came Thanksgiving, one of my favorites.  I liked the idea of family and friends gathering together with no other purpose other than eating until you nearly exploded and being thankful for each other and the blessings of the year.  No presents required, just the joy of family togetherness — and the knowledge that my children were here, all of them.  On that first Thanksgiving the empty chair and place at the table seemed to scream out at me that someone precious was missing.  And the message of this particular holiday was thankfulness?  What on earth could I ever find to be thankful for?

Some TCF parents have memories of being unable to choke down any morsel of food because they were continually trying to choke back tears that first Thanksgiving.  Just wanting to curl up in a ball, pull the covers over their heads, and wake up some time in January after the last remnants of the holidays were cleared away.  In all honesty, I cannot tell you even one detail of that first one; where I spent it, who was present, where I was, if I cried all day.  I remember nothing.

I do remember three months after Nina had died, though.  On a visit to my neurologist I tearfully told him of my depression over her death.  His response to me was "Why don't you count your blessings rather than your sorrows?  Think happy thoughts and maybe you won't feel so sad." I, of course, asked him if he had ever lost a child.  He had not obviously.  Only someone uneducated in the school of grief would say something like that.

About five Thanksgivings later, have I found reasons to be thankful?  I asked myself this question and decided to put pen to paper.  I was surprised to say the list was quite lengthy, so I will only share a few of them.

I am thankful for — My loving family, and the welcomed joyful additions in the last few years.  - My memory, because now the painful memories are, more often than not, replaced with the beautiful memories of the past, and they were such beautiful memories.   — My life, for whom else will keep Nina's memory alive?  Of course, my family, but they have lives, as they should.  I am self-appointed keeper of my daughter's memory.  — Nina.  The joy of loving her, the privilege of being her mother.  Though I wish it had been much longer, I wouldn't trade those 15 ½ years for anything.  - Smiling a genuine smile, laughing a hardy laugh, and finding my sense of humor again.  I sincerely believe that Nina likes to hear me laugh and that she would want me to find humor in life again.  - My sight, because I commented (for the first time in five autumns) on the magnificent colors of the autumn foliage and the grandness of Minnesota's most sumptuous season.  I didn't think I'd ever notice again.  But I did.  - The Compassionate Friends, who showed me there is life after the death of a child; who allowed me to express my emotions, listened patiently, understood my pain, and welcomed me into their hearts.  They helped me salvage what remained of my sanity and I will be eternally grateful.   — The opportunity to give back, through TCF meetings and this newsletter.  To bring hope to the newly bereaved in the knowledge that it won't always hurt this bad, and that you will make it with the love and support of family and your Compassionate Friends.  And, that there will come a time that you too will find things to be thankful for again.

I am told, by those who know, that peace and acceptance are that light we are searching for at the end of the tunnel.  Though I find myself still looking for it at times, those further down the grief road have reassured me it will come.  Maybe not this Thanksgiving or next, but that it will come.  And I believe them.

~Cathy S. (TCF – St. Paul, MN)