by Margaret Ree

Created on: September 06, 2008   Last Updated: November 01, 2008

THE PAIN OF PARTING, GRIEF AND H EALING

I come from a long line of stouthearted pioneer people. Our family members are strong European stock. It was natural to have grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins all of whom lived to enjoy a birthday of 95 or more. Cancer was unheard of and was not in our vocabulary.

My grandfather was the first of the family to die and it was so sad. The doctor said he died peacefully in his sleep At the gathering of the clan I was stricken at the sadness but also the acceptance as it was the natural order of life.

It was not the natural order of life when I was told my dear son had zero chances of recovering from terminal cancer and had about 4 months to live. He had only just turned 25. I said it must be a mistake and that surely there were more tests. All the rest becomes a blur. I watched the sun come up and was still in the same seat at sunset but the lengthening shadows only reminded me that I had little time to be with my handsome son.

The morning of February 14 dawned with lots of snow. He had suffered all night long. I looked out the window and looking up to heaven said aloud, "I'm coming through this window with him and you will get the two of us." He slipped away from me that very day. My grief knew no bounds. I was inconsolable and wanted to be left alone.

Family and friends tried to get me help. The pastor of our church was kind but his words seemed rehearsed. I went to one counseling session and found it to be equally hollow. They were serving coffee and little cakes. How dare they laugh and smile. How could they be sad and talk about one that had passed away that they did not know or were not involved with? I did not want to be there. I got more from reading books on sorrow and how to handle it step by step-first the shock, then denial, then anger, and lastly acceptance. Well I am different from textbook cases. I was not in shock, nor have I ever felt anger. Denial is another matter, but I could never reach acceptance.

I resisted every attempt offered to me for help. I did not believe anyone could feel sorrow as deeply as I. I visited the cemetery every day. There I talked to anyone who mourned and there were many young deaths. My heart softened when I went to help a family that had a sudden death of a young son. I began my own program and it became a source of solace.

I set up memorials for my son. I have several now. It is a comfort to see his name written. My feeling is that he has not passed from this life never to be remembered. His name is written at schools he attended. I give to a scholarship for one of them.

One of the most comforting things is to give to children - not children who are ill but to help in the education of beautiful healthy ones who are in need. This is a wonderful lift. I do feel partial to the boys with the mischievous smile that only little boys seem to have but the girls are equally sweet

Lastly I wrote two separate articles about my son and each has been published. Writing opened a new venue for me. Keeping busy is the only way that works for me and the only way to keep grief subdued. In the deepest chamber of the heart is one so dear that his name is sung with each beat of this heart of mine forever.

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