Grief Counseling

Friday, May 7, 2010

Last week, Dan and I attended our first support group for parents who have lost little ones. We were both interested to go but also anxious. My right leg was shaking up and down almost the entire time. I couldn't stop fidgeting.

The group began by going around in a circle and briefly introducing ourselves and sharing our story. Dan spoke for us, and it was really difficult to hear him voice our situation out loud to a room of strangers. "Our four-month-old son passed away from SIDS..." We felt the anguish compressing our hearts once again. And we cried. But I wanted to say more - to say, "That's not all there is to our son. There's so much more I can share with you!" To sum Ty up in one sentence was torturous to my ears. I wanted to talk about the spiritual experiences I had before conceiving Ty, and the ones that continue to come even in his death. I wanted to share what I have so quickly learned of the Atonement, and the healing that has taken places and continues to do so. But I didn't quite do that. Not everyone in the room was LDS, and I was afraid they wouldn't understand, or would doubt my words. Or that maybe it wasn't appropriate to share religious aspects in a setting like this. So I stayed quiet for a time.

It was difficult listening to the stories around the room. The group was opened up to discussion - to whatever anyone wanted to say. The first woman that spoke shared the bitterness and anger she feels towards everyone having babies. She's coming up on the one year mark of her baby's passing, and wants nothing to do with anyone else's babies. I couldn't connect at all to her feelings. Despite the pangs of sadness I feel, I am genuinely happy to celebrate the pregnancies and births of other mothers and babies. There were more tears from other couples who spoke of their recent losses. For the first twenty minutes, I wanted to get up and leave. There was so much negativity and despair in the room. And while it was completely justifiable, I questioned in my mind, "How is this supposed to help?" Dan and I both felt we were further along in the healing process than most of the other 13 people in the room. It was depressing being there.

However, half-way into the hour, a few people started talking about gospel principles in discreet terms. It was then that a positive spirit came into the room, and I felt I could share a little bit of what I was feeling. One thing Dan and I have been struggling with off and on is guilt. With SIDS, because there is no determined cause, parents are left to wonder what we could have done better to prevent it, or if we made a mistake. When I am alone, Satan puts awful thoughts in my head. In my heart, I know there was nothing I could do to stop Ty from returning Home. I know we were being prepared to say good-bye to him. I know before it happened, prayers were said on our behalf without these people even understanding why. But off and on, the thought comes into my head, "God knew you were going to fail. And that's why everything happened the way it did." They are the meanest thoughts and feelings I have ever felt. And it has broken my heart into pieces - to think I failed my son. That he could be here with me if I hadn't messed up. Dan, too, made the mistake of reading about SIDS, and all it does is cause us to doubt.

Most of the time, especially as of late, I have been able to take a step back and tell myself, "Stop. This is exactly what Satan wants me to think. Because it will destroy me. It will destroy my faith, my testimony, the peace I have felt..." And then I remember Ty's funeral, and the powerful spirit that swallowed me and everyone in that room with peace and understanding. I am strengthened to ward off the attacks, standing tall and sure of myself, my beliefs, and my testimony, once again. It happens to Dan, too, so we talk about it and remind ourselves of what we know to be true in our hearts.

In the group, we also shared that it will be impossible not to think of Ty whenever we see our nieces and nephews - especially little Kylana, who is only two weeks older than Ty. At every milestone that we're happy to celebrate, we can't help but think, "Ty would be doing this, too." When she walks, when she talks, when she can run around playing with her mom and dad, we will know we should be able to enjoy those moments, also. We love our family and do not begrudge them this happiness. We just miss our Ty. And that's OK.

So, it was refreshing to share our feelings with people who do know how we feel, and to remind ourselves that we're not insane for feeling this way. After the group, I hugged every mother, feeling an instant connection to their pain and their hope that this will pass and we'll all feel whole again - minus a part of our hearts that will always belong to our little ones.

One of the most comforting things I heard came from the woman who made the molds of Ty's hands and feet. She was at the hospital the entire time we were there and shared this information with us: The police officer who had came into our home and took over CPR from me was especially emotional at the hospital. I remember him. Because when no more could be done, he approached me with tears in his eyes and offered his condolences, giving me a strong hug. I will never forget his kindness, and appreciate that my son's death was not "just another day at work". It was real and it was personal. He was overheard saying that as a police officer, it is his duty to scrutinize, especially in cases of SIDS. Not to say that it is ever the parents' fault, but in other cases he has been to, there are usually other factors going on, such as a filthy house or other things. But this officer said when he entered our home, he knew "this house was made for that baby. There is nothing to investigate here." Many of the hospital staff also commented about how well taken care of Ty was - how healthy and clean (and chubby!) he was. Nobody judged us.

It shouldn't matter what other people think. But at the time, you can't help but fear the thoughts of others, especially when you are working through those guilty emotions yourself. So, it made Dan and I really happy to hear these things.

On Sunday, Dan received confirmation that has put much, if not all, of our guilt to rest. He was told that he was prepared for the trials and challenges that would face him in mortality - one of which would be the death of his son at an early age. And he agreed to do this.

Which makes me think: If Dan agreed to it, I must have agreed to it, too. What a strengthening power that is to imagine saying, "Yes, I will valiantly overcome this trial for our good." We believed we could do it then. I know we can continue to do it now.