Dec 3, 2017 | Stories, Uncategorized
Most Employers Grant Only Three Days Of Paid Leave After A Child Dies
There are times in which an entire life can change in a moment. It may come in the form of an anxiously anticipated milestone: graduation, marriage, or the birth of a child. But there are darker, unimaginable tragedies we often refuse to consider – tucking them into the deepest recesses of our minds because they are too painful, too life-altering. For Deana Martin that moment came on a busy Friday afternoon.
Going through routine updates during her weekly supervising meeting, Deana’s phone began to ring. It rang again, and again, and again, incessantly. Continuing to devote her attention to work, Deana reviewed department finances, all the while noticing an unknown number with her hometown Indiana area code. Given the relentless nature of the caller, Deana acquiesced and picked up the phone.
The news was devastating: she had lost not one, but both of her children. But the death of her children was just the tip of the iceberg. As for many parents, a glacier of change was underway.
In the days following her unimaginable loss, she fought through indescribable pain – all the while planning funerals; making accommodations to become the primary caregiver for her young granddaughter; informing the employers, family members, and friends of her deceased children; and attempting to comfort those around her. It was during this time she learned her employer had given her two weeks of bereavement leave – one for each child.
Today, child death is not a qualifying event for job protection through federal legislation known as the Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA). As a result, bereaved families have no choice but to negotiate leave with their individual employer – at a time when they are least emotionally and mentally capable of doing so. Oregon and Illinois are the only states in the nation to require employers to allow bereaved families to take two weeks of unpaid leave; Illinois provides additional leave – up to six weeks – for the loss of multiple children. According to one industry survey, 69 percent of employers grant three days of paid bereavement leave following a child death – not enough time to plan a funeral. As a nation, we can do better for our families, especially in a time of significant crisis.
Those two weeks passed in a haze for Deana: burial arrangements, negotiations with insurance companies, building a new life for the granddaughter who had been robbed of her mother and uprooted from the only surroundings she had ever known. With compassion and care, Deana persevered.
Deana returned to work, yet she did so in body only. Her mind, heart, and health would not recover. It took years for her to realize that her life was forever changed. Her grief was severe and enduring: chronic depression, anxiety disorder, insomnia, panic attacks, and a condition known as complicated or prolonged grief syndrome – all symptoms many families endure for decades, if not a lifetime. Ultimately, Deana was released from her job by an employer who was unable to support or assist in her recovery.
Deana still struggles to define herself and her purpose in the aftermath of her loss: “My children were and are my life. My identity as a mother and a career woman disappeared. I struggle with the question, Who am I now?“
As she rebuilds her life, she focuses on caring for her granddaughter and working to help other families who have suffered the death of a child. “I know I am where I am meant to be in life and that my experiences are more normal than not,” says Deana. “I know it will still take time to rebuild and sift through the rubble of my shattered life of twenty-five years. In time I will build a new foundation and new coping skills. There is one thing I know without a doubt, and that is that I have to give of myself to society, for I have a heart and compassion for other hurting parents like me.”
Dec 3, 2017 | Stories, Uncategorized
It’s okay no one understands why I was so upset this morning. Dad and Johnny don’t get it – perhaps the male mind can compartmentalize easily – they accept that you’re gone. Today I took stuff out of your room, the way I had set your things up, because dad is going to paint the room. You would approve of the colors – chocolate brown and a blue that is more turquoise than any other blue by name.
Dad wanted to take off everything on your bed and move it. I got hysterical crying. Kiki nothing has changed on your bed, linens, covers, pillows and stuffed animals, since March 1 2012 – the last night you slept there. I wanted to keep you there. I know its ridiculous. I can still smell you if I put my head on your pillow and pull the comforter over me. I laid on top of your bed once – the day you had died twelve months before. You know I know you are not coming back, yet there was something symbolic about the bed staying the same. It was not to be used; I would not let others sit on it. Daddy could not sleep on it. I did not want anyone to take away any part of you that was there.
I know it is a little crazy, when up late at night and I walk to the basement, there is a strange instant of fear that a ghost or you would come. I freak that I had this thought because I think now you will not come. In my mind, quickly, I say, “I would never be afraid if Kirsten came to see me. I could keep it a secret, we could meet in the basement”.
I cannot shake the sense that someday I will see you in the only form I know, human; this is what television has done to me starting with the movie “The Ghost and Mr. Muir”. I believe your soul is alive – I don’t know what that means. I wish my mind had a higher frequency, deeper intelligence and open mindedness. I think if I was at this higher level of thought I would have a sense of you being with me, or a clear vision of you or warmness in my heart when you hug me.
I just thought of this the other day — I spent as many years with you as without you. When I was 26, I was pregnant with you and had just turned 27 before you were born. Obviously, most of the years up to age 26 I was a child. I grew up with you. Sometimes you took care of me. I have always felt possessive of you; as if you were mostly mine. I know daddy and Johnny are part of my life, deeply loving them too. However, you were I, and, somehow, I was you. It does not make sense logically — it’s a feeling, of sorts, in my mind and heart. Part of me just cannot let go of you. My keeping your bed, “as it was”, left a tiny opening that someday you would come back.
Well, after dad and I had words about things, I carefully took off the pillows and put them in plastic bag and closed it tightly. I did the same with the blanket/bed-spread and a separate bag for the bottom sheet. I was crying. As I folded the sheet, I thought it was like folding the American flag for a soldier that had died. The room has never been so empty. No Kirsten mementos or bed coverings. If your room had feelings, it would be heartbroken today. This was your special room for twenty years although, in reality, it was only special because you were in it.
I often think about things we might have done when you and Johnny were young. When I went to Old Orchard the other day I could not remember if I had ever let you stop and look at the goldfish in the pond when you were little. Did I? I wish we had taken a walk at the lake. I hate to think about how stressed I was when you were young – always rushing.
I love you, more than anyone can ever understand, as I cannot understand. I feel as if I don’t understand anything – day turns to night and then it starts again. I hate the days passing…. I don’t want to have more years without you then with you. I pray — I do not know what else to do. What am I supposed to do in life now? Some days, like today, I can’t stand you being gone, unable to touch you, or hear your voice, or get a hug. I miss you.
Mommy
July 1, 2013
Dec 3, 2017 | Stories, Uncategorized
Serving her country was the first thing Betsy Cummings would do following graduation. Leaving her small hometown of Culpeper, Virginia, she was off to see the world, meet her future husband, and eventually welcome her young son, Dylan, into the world.
Following maternity leave, Betsy did what millions of American working families do each day: she relinquished her only child, seven-week old Dylan, to a local childcare center in Norfolk, Virginia, entrusting them with his life. But what happened next was a tragedy no parent should experience.
Within weeks of returning to work, Betsy received a call from the childcare center. They urged her to come quickly; there had been an “incident” and her son was no longer breathing.
What Betsy did not know then, and what American families do not know now, is that federal child safety protection laws are not equally enforced by all states. Certain childcare providers are exempt from commonsense requirements such as background checks, fingerprint analysis, and formal childcare training. In Betsy’s home state of Virginia, for example, 14 types of organizations are exempt from federal child safety protections including religious institutions, karate training centers, local parks and recreation facilities. In these states, families are left with no criminal recourse when their child is injured or dies while under the supervision of an exempt childcare provider.
Racing from her office, Betsy recalls stopping at a red light en route to the childcare center and watching a man cross the street with his child. “I remember thinking, ‘God, I hope I still have that.” She did not. Her son had been found unresponsive after being placed on his stomach to sleep in an unventilated 12-by-12-foot room that fire marshals labeled a utility closet while the caretaker took a lunch break in a more than 55-feet (or five stories away) from the children, according to the Licensing Division of the Virginia Department of Social Services.
In the aftermath of Dylan’s death, Betsy began asking questions. She learned the single caretaker who had been responsible for her son and nine other infants had never received training in how to care for infants and did not know standard safety precautions to prevent sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS). In fact, the childcare center had never been subjected to the routine inspections required for daycare centers licensed by the state of Virginia.
Moved by Betsy’s story, the local district attorney charged the childcare center with felony homicide neglect. Because of the exemption, however, the judge found: “Because of its affiliation with a church, the day care center is not subject to the regulations applicable to secular day cares.” He goes onto to say, “While the court is certainly sympathetic with the concerns expressed by the Commonwealth, the remedy for this situation lies in the sound discretion of the General Assembly, not with the judiciary.” In short, there would be no criminal charges or incarceration for the death of her son; it was a legal loophole that persists today.
After Dylan’s death Betsy left the Navy to pursue her bachelor’s degree in paralegal studies and an associate’s degree in criminal justice. Now a paralegal, Betsy is determined to help change Virginia laws governing childcare licensing and regulation to prevent what happened to her son from happening to other children. “I just want to see that it’s safe, that it’s fair, no matter where you go,” she says. “I have to try to save another child. I have to try to keep others from feeling this pain I feel every day. That has to be why Dylan was put here.”
Dec 3, 2017 | Stories, Uncategorized
Even the Forgotten Lose Children
Countless experiences shape the trajectory of a human life, but for Maryam Henderson-Uloho the convergence of two specific and devastating events ultimately changed her course: a 25-year prison sentence and the death of her son, Augustine.
Maryam was serving her sentence at St. Gabriel’s Louisiana Correctional Institution for Women when she received the news that her oldest son had died in a motorcycle accident. There were no social or mental support systems available Maryam. In addition to the absence of professional assistance, she could not even take refuge in the support of her prison community. A gesture as simple as a hug from another inmate could result in a minimum 90-day stay in solitary confinement, known as “The Hole.”
Recently, there has been mounting attention surrounding policies and practices for incarcerated women – and for good reason. Since 1980, there has been a 716 percent increase in female incarceration. In Louisiana, black women are incarcerated four times more than white women. The Sentencing Project, a leading voice in reforming the nation’s criminal justice system, attributes these increases to “more expansive law enforcement efforts, stiffer drug sentencing laws, and post-conviction barrier to reentry that uniquely affect women.” According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, more than half of America’s prison population has a child who is under the age of 18.
“I am continuing to live with it: the death of my son and re-entry into society,” Maryam shares. Knowing firsthand the unequal support former female inmates receive, Maryam has channeled her energy and love into supporting formerly incarcerated women through her upstart venture, SisterHearts Thrift Store. “SisterHearts” is an affectionate term identifying women who were formerly incarcerated, those who are still in prison, and others who have supported Maryam since her release.
SisterHearts Thrift Store is no small affair. The 15,000 square-foot facility is located in St. Bernard Parish, one of the areas hardest hit by Hurricane Katrina, and an integral part of the community. Beyond offering goods ranging from common household items to clothes to furniture, SisterHearts hosts cooking classes, writing classes, and even a Toastmaster club. She also has made transitional housing a focus of her efforts. Maryam knows from her experience in the criminal justice system that inmates are required to provide a residential address as a condition for release. For a variety of reasons, many women lose their homes while serving their sentences. To address this challenge, Maryam offers a free six-bed facility for those women who have no home to return to or safe place to stay upon reentering society.
While she has a clear focus on serving formerly incarcerated women, Maryam also works with former male inmates, who provide support for the store. Michael Coleman has been with SisterHearts since the beginning and has developed skills in customer service, merchandise repair, and management.
While Maryam provides support, both practical and emotional, for those that much society has left behind, she faces common struggles as a small business owner and bereaved parent. “I live with Augustine’s absence daily. Just like a mother’s love, this pain can never be erased. I honor his memory by loving others and working hard every day to strengthen my heart.
Dec 3, 2017 | Stories, Uncategorized
Don’t Lean Into The Brokeness
Nearly three years ago the nation’s attention was gripped by the shooting death of Michael Brown, a young black man who was shot by Darren Wilson, a white police officer. As unrest unfolded in Ferguson, larger questions about racial inequities and institutional racism began making headlines. Today, police shootings continue to be scrutinized, but racial bias and the inequities that plague families do not capture America’s attention.
Going largely unnoticed, except for sensational headlines decrying Chicago’s latest homicide count, are the thousands of families who live in communities where it is conceivable that their black son may walk out the door in the morning and never return. Although homicide is the leading cause of death among black men ages 15-35, many families feel invisible and left behind. This reality is true in a portion of Washington D.C. known as Anacostia, less than ten miles from The White House.
“How many of our kids are going to die before somebody sits up and says, “This is a problem,” says bereaved mother and Anacostia resident Judith Hawkins. Judith’s son, Alvin, was shot and paralyzed from the chest down in July 2015; over time his mental health declined precipitously and he took his own life less than a year later. “I’m really grateful to be able to talk about him right now because I feel like he didn’t matter, to nobody but me.”
Judith’s stoicism is cloaked by a contagious, hardy laugh, often making it difficult to understand what she is trying to convey. She cannot hold a conversation without laughing, no matter how intense her pain is. In the last two weeks alone, Judith has been a source of comfort for two other bereaved mothers by virtue of just being in the right place at the right time.
Despite the many seemingly lighthearted moments, Judith is clear about the pain she feels, the injustices she sees, and the tragedies she witnesses in her neighborhood each day. The first anniversary of her son’s death having just passed, Judith knows all too well the silent agony and pain that bereaved families face, particularly in the the first year following their loss.
Scientific evidence shows that mothers are more likely to die from both natural and unnatural causes in the years following a child’s death and more likely to be committed to a psychiatric hospital in the first five years following the death. Through our work, we have seen this firsthand with the death of Amy Huber, a young, healthy mother who simply went to sleep one evening just days before the first anniversary of her daughter’s death and did not wake up.
Judith suffered a heart attack upon learning her son had been shot. When Alvin left the hospital he was a paraplegic and celebrating his 21st birthday – the day his Medicaid benefits were set to expire. From that day forward, the two struggled to make ends meet in a dilapidated building that, according to Judith, was the only building in the area that could accommodate Alvin’s wheelchair on her nonprofit salary.
Since this lowest point in Judith’s life she has moved into a new, safe apartment and has maintained her job with Bread for the City. As she navigates the reality of living without her son, she continues to struggle with a concept of justice, “You don’t just lose your child; you lose your dreams.”
When Judith talks about the grief she carries and the traumas she sees daily at Bread for the City she reflects on what society tells her, “Do I have time to properly grieve? I don’t know what proper grieving is. I’ve got to get up and go to work. Do I make enough money to pay bills? No, I work every day. I cannot lean into the brokenness or it will take over and I won’t survive.”
Despite the hardships, the racism, and the continued homicides taking the lives of young black men in her neighborhood, Judith remains gregarious and optimistic, “When it comes down to it, the great equalizer is grief. We are bleed blood and we all cry wet tears. The reality is that there will be more [deaths]. Until it happens to other, more prominent families, it will continue.”
Dec 3, 2017 | Stories, Uncategorized
Bryan Burgess (center) was killed in action during his final 2011 deployment to Afghanistan just 16 days before he was scheduled to return home — a few weeks shy of his 30th birthday. His parents Terry and Beth created Gold Star Parents retreat and network in his honor.
Grieving Bryan, their son who gave all, Texas parents Terry and Beth Burgess found hope by creating supports for fellow Gold Star families
When Bryan Burgess was seven years old, he and his father Terry visited a friend’s house, where the family was having an Easter egg hunt. Asked to join the fun, Bryan won handily, earning the day’s prize — a great big, cellophane-wrapped Easter basket full of foil-wrapped chocolates, toys, and other sweet treasures.
From a young age Bryan showed a special manner of caring for others.
“Some of the other moms were clearly upset because we weren’t family, you know, we were just visiting,” says Terry. “But before anybody could say anything, Bryan unwrapped the basket and stepped back from it. He said ‘dig in!’ and he let all those other kids and the moms take all the candy they wanted before he took a single piece.”
It’s one of Terry favorite stories to tell about his son, because he says, “it’s when I knew that he had a very special spirit.”
Bryan’s manner of caring for others continued, according to his stepmother Beth. “He was always very protective and security conscious,” she says. He wanted to be a policeman and would remind his dad to fasten his seatbelt in the car.
At 22, Bryan enlisted in the Army, determined to become infantry in the wake of 9/11. “As soon as he signed up, we knew that he would almost immediately go to war. And sure enough, he did,” said Terry. Bryan’s commitment had already been made when they were told. “All we could do was support him in his decision.”
Bryan loved his new military career. He served two tours in Iraq, met and married his wife Tiffany, and they had two children, Makya and Zander. He was killed in action during his final 2011 deployment to Afghanistan just 16 days before he was scheduled to return home — a few weeks shy of his 30th birthday.
The wait for answers
Upon learning the devastating news about Bryan’s death, the Burgess family was given little information about what happened. “It was frustrating,” says Terry. He and Beth, along with all of Bryan’s other close family members, traveled to Dover Air Force Base, where the bodies of the fallen are brought back to U.S. soil for the solemn tradition of the “dignified transfer.” There, they met five other families, each of whom had lost a solider in the same mission where Bryan was killed, all of whom knew very little about the circumstances.
At 22, Bryan enlisted in the Army, determined to become infantry in the wake of 9/11.
“We were all thrown together at the worst possible time and each of us was trying to piece things together,” Beth said. But the process created connections that they could lean on for years. “We had an almost immediate support system.”
Bryan’s wife decided to postpone his funeral until the rest of his unit returned from Afghanistan, widening the circle of people Beth and Terry could connect with over their loss. As they began to piece together the story, they learned that answers would be so slow to come, in part, because Bryan had been killed on day one of a nine-day classified mission.
They bonded with three of the families from Bryan’s unit — others who would receive the deeply painful honor of receiving the Gold Star pin that signifies losing a loved one in service. They remain in contact to this day. Bryan’s spirit loomed so large that four men from his unit have named a son after him.
The Gold Star parent “grief calendar”
Bryan with his wife Tiffany.
According to Beth and Terry, the number of dates that cause spiraling grief is exponential: Bryan’s birthday, the date he was killed in action, the dignified transfer, the date he was supposed to return home alive, and the last day they spent together when he was home on leave. Bryan’s final deployment began on Mother’s Day of 2010, permanently changing the meaning of that holiday. “It’s an ongoing grief calendar, all year long,” says Terry.
“We have many ways to honor and remember Bryan on Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, and Veteran’s Day, but they tend to be painful holidays,” Beth said. “It’s hard, because everyone’s very patriotic, and you know what that really costs.”
When someone says “Happy Memorial Day,” it hurts, Terry said. “For us, it’s not a three-day holiday. It’s not barbecues and mattress sales.”
The Gold Star parent network
Beth and Terry discovered new purpose in supporting a network of Gold Star parents. But they found that the label is often restricted to combat-related deaths. They wanted to change that, and give every parent who had a child die while in service to the country a way to connect and help each other.
In 2017, they established a non-profit called Gold Star Parents Retreat, It is an annual, free retreat held in Gainesville, Texas for parents who have lost a child serving in any branch of the military, under any circumstance, including training or car accidents, complications from vaccinations before being deployed, and suicide.
“We bring them together to just connect with each other, talk to each other. We may now know what they went through,” Beth said. “We don’t try to fix,” Terry adds.
“We want to give them just a tiny bit of hope,” says Beth. “You’ll never get over it, but you’ll learn how to carry it. I guess you get better at carrying it. You’re not alone — there are lots of us out here who will help you carry it.”
Read the second post in this series: “He Wants Me to Salute Him Back” — how a documentary film featuring the firefight with the Taliban that took Bryan’s life led his father Terry to strengthen support for grieving Gold Star fathers.
