Submitted by Don Hermann
LOSS.
February 4, 1983, 3:30 in the afternoon.
CODE BLUE. CODE BLUE. CODE BLUE.
Without knowing, I knew. A patient was in trouble. Nurses came out of every possible door. Doctors running. All to intensive care.
I had to be there, too. I jumped up from the waiting room and headed for that door, as well. A wall was formed and I was prevented from entering.
Yes, my daughter Lisa was dying.
Shortly after, our doctor came out and gave me the news.
He, too had tears in his eyes. He said I could see her in a few minutes. My wife, her mother had been at another part of the floor and been told.
It’s interesting how they changed the sheets, cleaned her, brushed her hair. She looked so beautiful and so much at peace.
Lupus and the medication to sustain the kidney transplant had been the culprits. Pneumonia.
It’s over 40 yeas now. Time does fly. In many respects, it’s as fresh as if it were yesterday.
Lisa was a very special person. Not because she was my kid, but she went about life as if dialysis, three times a week, almost four hours at a clip would not interfere with her living life. When she wasn’t in school, she worked at the local
supermarket as a cashier.
She attended Syracuse University, got up at 6:00 am three times a week, drove in the snow, for dialysis.
Not one time did it interfere with her attending class and being just another student at the school.
Allow me one last story.
Her illness did inhibit some socializing. It was the high school prom. How would she handle this? A date? I was told that Bobby had asked her to be his date.
Bobby who? What’s the difference?
Her maternal grandmother was a seamstress. She made Lisa the most gorgeous dress you could imagine.
She was ready very early and waited anxiously for Bobby.
As did her parents and grandparents.
The door bell rang and standing before us was this really nice looking, appropriately dressed young man. Holding flowers.
Bobby. He said one word as we called Lisa to come out. I will never forget it. I treasure it. As she left the den walking in a short hall to where Bobby was standing, he uttered “WOW.”
LOSS. The issue at hand. Please understand that I am not a psychologist, a therapist or anyone seeking to give you emotional counseling during an inexplicable time.
I believe that experience can have value. In fact, I believe if you haven’t lived loss you’re talking theory and maybe not being as realistic as those who have gone through it.
As mentioned, I have lost a 19 year old daughter, who suffered from Lupus for almost seven years and the loss of kidney function. She received dialysis treatment for over two years and then was a recipient of a kidney.
The kidney lasted for about six months. She then got pneumonia and died. I learned a lot from her.
When she died, I was married with a son. The loss hit us like a ton of bricks. Our son was 14 and today he is 54, married with identical twin daughters, just one year old. A treasure.
A few weeks before she died, I was reading The New York Times and came upon an article dealing with the loss of a child.
How timely. It was in effect, a lifesaver. Where do you go? Who do you turn to?
They talked about The Compassionate Friends. A nonprofit, self help support organization offering friendship, understanding and hope to families grieving the death of a child of any age, from any cause.
There is no religious affiliation and no membership fees or dues charged. All bereaved family members are welcome. It was founded in England in 1969 and established in the United States in 1972. There are hundreds of local chapters. Each operates as a separate entity in countries around the world.
We chose one in Stamford, CT the one most convenient for us. There were about 20 to 25 people. All parents who had lost at least one child.
Shortly after Lisa died, we contacted them and attended a meeting. Their meetings were monthly.
We sat in a conference room at a large table. We went around the room introducing ourselves and giving a short description of why we were attending.
We then divided into smaller groups of about six to eight people, went to smaller rooms and talked and shared experiences in depth. It was truly supportive.
Real life experiences were shared. Crying permitted. When you hear about what others have gone through and what to expect, it’s very helpful.
There’s no magic. Some people attended a few sessions and others attended for years.
They currently have online support. Grief support for siblings. Grief support for grandparents.
Unfortunately, I’ve had a need for a support group more than once. My wife and I divorced and years later I met a woman who was really special in every way.
We were together 12 years. Married six. She developed glioblastoma (stage 4, brain cancer) and died.
Reliving this experience was especially difficult, to say the least.
The concept of a support group was top of my mind. I didn’t feel The Compassionate Friends was right for the loss of a spouse.
However, I knew what to look for. And what would suit my needs. The experience was very distressing.
I found a group about 20 miles from me, in Yonkers, NY.
It was so unlike what I was accustomed to. There was a Leader, who brought along an assistant. There were about 40 to 50 people. Not intimate. The Leader had a reputation in the field, had written a book and was anything but sensitive to the needs of the audience.
I was determined to find something to suit my needs. The local hospital offered a program. Funeral parlors were now a source.
I caution those seeking bereavement support and considering joining a group to try them out.
For example, a local Church in Greenwich, CT offered a program. I attended a meeting. I know loss is very painful but I found those who lost cats and dogs and distant relatives were not compatible with my needs.
The hospital program and those at the funeral parlors were eight week cycles. They expected you to join shortly after the death of your spouse and leave to allow another group to join for eight weeks.
There’s no way after eight weeks that any grieving person can say, “OK, my feet are on the ground and I’m ready to take the world on.” I consider that approach irresponsible.
I didn’t give up. The benefits were too important. I came upon a group for the loss of spouses at another local hospital in Port Chester, NY.
A Therapist ran the group. The number of people attending varied. 15 maximum, 10 minimum. Mostly women. Four or five men at most would be unusual.
There was no structure to the group. It was like a group of friends getting together weekly, to discuss events in their lives. There was some crying, some laughing, and all support.
After a brief period, even the most introspective person opened up and discussed and shared feelings.
After the meetings we went out to dinner.
If on a weekend or any day we were lonely we would call a member, meet them or just chat on the phone.
The hospital paid the Therapist and provided the room. At some point they withdrew the money for the Therapist. I was asked to be the Leader.
That lasted for a few months and then the hospital needed the room and invited us to leave.
We continued meeting at people’s homes, maintaining our relationships.
I stayed with the group over two years. My life changed and I moved on staying in touch with some of the women for a brief period.
Loss is so painful. It is not the end of life.
A few years after my wife died of brain cancer, the younger of my two brothers also was diagnosed with glioblastoma.
He only lived a few more months.
My other younger brother developed a series of health issues and died, as well.
You take a punch and you get up. You take another punch or two or three and you get up again.
I found that life doesn’t end. The losses don’t leave you.
Just when I thought a door was closing, I was introduced to a woman, a psychologist, about to retire.
She had lost a son. And a spouse. Our losses are shared.
Not forgotten. It helps us to be more grounded. And tuned into each other.
As life moves on, those you loved and whose lives were lost don’t leave you. They’re still part of you. And part of how you respond to life’s challenges. Perhaps even making you more sensitive and appreciative and understanding of the flaws in other people.
Hang in there. Time helps you help yourself. You can gain from the loss.