Kevin, fierce protector of his nine siblings and Nancy and Ray’s son.

A Bereaved Mother’s Day

Nancy is the unflappable mother of ten and leads her large family with grace, instilling a deep love for life in all her children. As a psychotherapist who specializes in addiction and trauma, she has a soft spot for people and falls in love easily, especially with children. Kevin was no different.

Kevin joined the twelve-member brood at the age of fourteen. “We got a call from a foster care agency saying he had nowhere to spend Christmas, asking if we could we take him for a couple of weeks,” says Nancy. “So, we did. And we fell in love with him.”

While it took some time to bond, Kevin soon curled comfortably into his new life, even joking that the family must have lost him at birth and it simply took 14 years for them to find him. “He was able to overcome the experiences of his past and learn to love and trust. It was a beautiful thing to witness,” she says.

By 16, he would bristle whenever he was asked if Nancy was his “real” mom. He told her “I decided that ‘real’ means you Raise me, you Enjoy my company, you Answer all my tough questions and you Love me — that’s REAL.”

He became a fierce protector of his nine siblings as well as an overall optimist and frequent smiler.

Kevin was the kind of young man who brought his mother flowers for no particular reason. And from the time that he began his first job as a teenager, he would request every Sunday off, because “that’s our Family Day day.” With a large family, celebrations are frequent and four years ago, the day before Mother’s Day, was no different.

The family was celebrating Ricky’s 11th birthday, Kevin’s younger brother, with several friends when 25-year-old Kevin headed to work. Just as they lit the candles on Ricky’s cake, officers arrived with the news that — literally — knocked Nancy off of her feet. Kevin had taken a shortcut to work, jamming to music with earbuds while walking along a Vermont railroad track. He was killed instantaneously by a train.

The Mother’s Day card he had purchased lay on his bed, unsigned.

Anniversaries

The weeks leading up to the fourth anniversary of Kevin’s death have been particularly difficult. “For some reason, the three-year anniversary was easier for me than this one, and there is no rhyme or reason for it… I’ve come to accept that I can’t predict the best or worst days,” Nancy said.

She always prepares for Mother’s Day, birthdays and anniversaries. She and her husband, Ray, Kevin’s stepfather, take the day off work. “But there are some days I can’t prepare for,” Nancy confides. “There is no explanation as to why certain days just take your breath away and knock your feet out from under you.”

Nancy takes a lesson from another tragic loss in her life. Just before Nancy’s 10th birthday, her older foster sister, Elaine was murdered. Pictures of Elaine around the house just disappeared.

“We never talked about her — she was completely gone. My parents said they were advised to not take us to the grave or talk about her,” Nancy said. “That was a big mistake. It made it very hard to cope with the grief. My husband and I have made a conscious effort to go the other way — Kevin is not a forbidden topic.”

Nancy talks about Kevin in a vibrant, vivid way, and encourages the rest of her children to do the same. He loved to sing constantly, “but was awful,” laughs Nancy, noting that he often put his family in stitches with his off-key stylings. He had a big sense of humor, a habit of blurting out movie spoilers and disturbingly stinky feet. He had a strong Christian faith and regularly assisted with the sound equipment at church.

Making memories

Each of her children chose a support buddy to be with them through the wakes and funeral. “I think that was the therapist in me,” says Nancy. Friends and family members were tasked with keeping a special eye on the children, whether they needed a drink of water or a person to lean on. “It helped us to know that just for a little while, we could just focus on Kevin and our own grief,” says Nancy.

At Kevin’s wake, Nancy and Ray invited people to sculpt their memories of Kevin out of clay and make two copies — one to stay with Kevin in his coffin, the other to keep. Memorabilia included shakes with straws and two impressions of the sheriff’s badge demonstrating who Kevin was and all the people he touched.

Balls of blue yarn, Kevin’s favorite color, were situated throughout his packed service. Attendees tossed the yarn creating such a giant web that firefighters teased it might be a fire code violation. But it “showed how Kevin connected us all in his short life. We put a piece of blue string in each program as a reminder that Kevin built connections between people and that lives on.”

Struggling to parent surviving siblings

The hardest period Nancy remembers was a few weeks after Kevin died. “The sympathy cards stop coming and people aren’t bringing meals anymore,” she said. “You’re expected to function, and you don’t even know how.”

Nancy couldn’t even go to the grocery store — “people would come over and say ‘are you okay?’ And you’re thinking ‘just let me grocery shop, I’m barely hanging on.’ I started grocery shopping several towns away for a while to not have people approach me.”

She also began to feel fear for her other children that was sometimes overwhelming.

“For a while, I was so scared that they would die that I set up a system with them,” Nancy said. “We picked out the panic face emoji. If I sent it out to them it just meant ‘I need to know you’re alive’ and they would send back kisses and hugs.”

Nancy and Kiki talk about Kevin and railroad safety.

The profound loss challenged her beliefs as a parent. Her catchphrase for all of her children had long been “I gave you life to live!” She had encouraged them to move fully into their lives, and travel. Kevin had done mission work in Mexico. “After Kevin died, I just felt like I changed my mind — I gave you life to be in a bubble, to stay safe and protected from everything. But they would bring my words back against me… It’s hard. What if living life means you’re taking risks that mean you could die?”

Finding purpose

Nancy had gone back to get her Master’s Degree in Psychotherapy and finished her program just weeks before Kevin died. Around that time, she began to feel uncertain that she should go on and pursue her PhD.

“It was one of those times when the roles reversed. All of a sudden Kevin was lecturing me, “Mom, it’s been your lifelong dream to get your doctorate. Don’t give up, don’t stop.’ And he ended that speech with ‘besides, I’ve been waiting to call you Dr. Mom.’”

She postponed her PhD program for nine months, but realized how heartbroken Kevin would be if she didn’t finish. “So, I started it — and I have felt him with me all along the way,” Nancy said.

While rearranging her bedroom to create a space to study for her spring exams, Nancy found the last birthday card Kevin gave to her. “When I opened it, it said ‘I can’t wait to call you Dr. Mom.’ It was so strange to have found that right as I started the exams.” Nancy has stayed open to, and taken comfort in, any sign that connects her to Kevin.

“I’m a logical, scientific person, but I need those signs,” she says. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s just our intense need to feel him with us that makes us read more into something than is really there. If this is the case, I don’t want to know because I choose to keep feeling those connections with him.”

Then her exams fell on the anniversary of his death. At first it was really painful, but then I realized it was kind of his way of saying ‘I’m there, I’m with you.’ When I do finish (in 2020), I’m going to change my license plate to Dr. Mom.”

Blessings of love and a life to live

The day after Kevin died, Nancy’s best friend called and told her to look outside. There was a double rainbow. “I like to believe it was Kevin’s Mother’s Day gift to me.” The first time Nancy shared her sister’s murder publicly was in 2012, then “on the way home, a double rainbow appeared,” she says. “Kevin and I talked about that as Aunt Elaine sending her blessing of love.”

As Nancy’s two youngest children, Kiki and Ricky, headed out to do mission work with homeless individuals in Boston, she said “part of me is like, ‘don’t go out on the streets of Boston — that’s dangerous!’ And another part of me feels like ‘live every day fully because you don’t know how many you might have.’ This is the biggest balancing act.”

For now, however, Dr. Mom will continue to look for double rainbows and telling her children ‘I gave you life to live.’

Evermore is immensely grateful to Kevin’s mom Nancy for sharing her experience to benefit other bereaved parents and families.

The death of a child is considered one of the worst traumas any human can experience with cascading consequences that endure for a lifetime. How society responds can make all the difference. That is the national imperative we will continue to address. Toward that end, republishing and citing our work is highly encouraged!

Mulheron left her career to immerse herself in the science surrounding the fallout of losing a child at any age or cause. She then started Evermore — a nonprofit to change the national response when a child dies.

Evermore organization will tackle why and how More. Bereaved. Families.

Every day, news coverage reports the death of sons and daughters of all ages dying from an array of causes. And the coverage continues. Last week I, like many others, was thunderstruck by the news that Jeremy Richman, Sydney Aiello and Calvin Desir had died.

More. Bereaved. Families.

I know these families’ lives, like my own and many others, are forever divided into two categories:

Life Before and Life After.

But most of all, I have come to know unambiguously, that more could — and should — be done to help bereaved families in the United States.

Observing from the sidelines is no longer an option.

My own Life After started in 2010 after the death of my daughter. And, over time, as I watched the news that detailed the death of yet another child — from the Sandy Hook massacre and Aurora Theater shooting to the deaths of Trayvon Martin and Hadiya Pendleton — I had a very real sense of the heartache, injustices, and lifelong challenges these families would face. I was hit with the conviction that I must do something — even if I did not yet know what that might be.

I decided to leave the only career I had ever known and began to immerse myself in the science surrounding the implications of losing a child and the stories of those left behind.

Joyal Mulheron at home with a photo of her infant daughter, Eleanora, who died at nearly five months (Dayna Smith/For the Washington Post).

Americans from all walks of life graciously and patiently shared with me how their lives were changed by one of life’s most tragic experiences. I have had the honor of learning from families, medical providers, members of law enforcement, therapists, researchers, employers, and many more.

And now’s the time to get off the bench to share what I’ve learned and launch a national conversation about child death, its implications, so we can address it for what it is:

A public health crisis.

To raise awareness, encourage funding and push for change, I founded Evermore — a nonprofit that recognizes that when a child dies, what happens next can make all the difference.

Personal Stories, Factual Analysis

We will use this platform as part of our campaign to de-stigmatize the issues bereaved parents face and advise practitioners, employers and others on what bereaved families need (and don’t need).

Evermore has a unique perspective to offer our nation, our communities and our families. We are able to not only share individual anecdotes, but also provide factual analysis informed by research and partnerships with leading scientists and policy experts.

You will see what we see, including how we, as Americans, can and do stand by our families, neighbors, and communities during tragedy.

In a time when our nation seems to be marked by division and dissent, this will be a place where families — and those who support them — can see hope, help and love. You will be able to learn from one another and find solace in sharing stories of slog and promise. This blog will also be a forum to highlight providers who work with families: those who bear the burden of telling parents and those who absorb our traumas. This blog will be authentic and genuine.

Together we can make the world a more livable place for bereaved families.

Evermore’s Ground Rules

There are a few key rules, however…

Every child counts. Whether young or old, before independent life has begun or as an octogenarian, every grieving parent and family deserves to be acknowledged, supported and offered the opportunity to cope with “us.” Whether felon or Park Avenue, we share a common humanity based upon the invisibility of our love, the uniqueness of our children, and how we brave the world without them.

Siblings count too. Siblings, young and old, are often forgotten. They, too, deserve to be acknowledged and supported for their loss.

Everyone has a role to play. Every community organization — public or private — has a role to play. From emergency responders to medical examiners, funeral homes to hospitals to employers. From grocers to recreational centers to caregivers and everyone in between, each institution can support families in their own ways. We hope all will join us in making this change.

We hope you will tune in regularly and give us feedback on the issues addressed and the personal stories covered. Too many people look away. Thank you for reading. We promise to do all we can to make it worth your time.

A Reflection by Catherine T

I thought I was in a dream,

a nightmare,

would I ever wake up?

My plane never landed in Italy,

but crashed on the runway in Holland.

She was sick, there were no answers,

in the end: not enough oxygen to her brain.

Her father stood helplessly watching, praying, while never leaving her side.

The dreams of Italy quickly dissipated and slipped away.

For seventeen hours I prayed, begged and pleaded,

I would dearly give my life so she could live in Holland.

I dreamed, “If only, we could be so blessed to live in Holland.”

I remember vowing to embrace, cherish and thrive in her life,

if we could only live in Holland.

It was not meant to be,

and her stay was cut too short.

She, we, never even had time to smell the tulips!

I thought it would break me,

would I ever come to understand?

Would I ever feel whole again?

Someday they said,

but I wondered, doubted if I ever would…

I too spent nine months and ten days dreaming of Italy,

a place her great grandfather was born,

while her surname “Teulings,” ironically, is Dutch.

The “she” surprised me,

as well as the warmth of her small moist body when placed on mine.

But not the tilt of her tiny head nor her first gaze,

not knowing it was her last,

streaming into my eyes piercing my heart,

now forever imbedded into my brain.

My firstborn’s life was cut painfully short;

the excruciating pain it brought was unbearable,

suffocating,

my world came crashing in on me that cold,

bitter January day…

Time, time, time, time and more time they said.

With time, some of the pain subsided,

but the meaning daunted me

and remained blurry and grey.

“Why me?” I cried,

life has so many crowded lanes…

There would be more children they said,

but how could I expect them to understand?

“More” would never replace her…

There would forever be an empty place in my heart.

“Obviously there is only one first trip to Italy, Holland or Timbuktu for that matter,

but why didn’t they understand?”

There would be more visions,

four to be exact,

but this time the dream destinations would never be Italy,

there would be very little dreaming,

something would always be missing,

a part of me always gone…

Lisa Catherine is her name.

Time, time, time and more time.

I felt myself changing.

I felt children calling, pulling, and searching.

I became a tutor in my children’s grammar school.

I was not ready to let mine go.

Time, time and more time.

Ready or not, mine got older, they needed me less,

and they were firmly on their own way.

But there were more, many more,

some that even landed and lived in Holland!

I became a paraprofessional for a beautiful young girl that lived in Holland,

who needed me.

“Or did I need her more?” I often wondered.

I made her life better, richer, more independent.

I taught her to count money,

find pages in a book, and estimate.

I watched her blossom, and then passed her on to caring hands in her next school.

I could do more,

I needed to do more.

I felt the warmth of the sun coming back to my soul;

my days became a little brighter and clearer.

I felt Holland calling, pulling I did not understand why.

Holland needed me,

or did I need Holland?

Maybe it was both, realizing years ago I had left a part of me there,

but never really knowing,

or understanding why….

I became a certified art teacher,

the road was not easy; family sacrifices were high.

Losing my father, but knowing they were together…

While the emotional support I needed was still missing,

I managed to connect a life that seemed light years away

with a new life never envisioned before.

Time and more time.

The haze was lifting,

The grey became clearer, the sun warmer.

But, always remembering that January day…

I promised I would have happily lived in Holland…

The nightmare began subsiding;

One day I woke and realized,

I was not meant to live in Holland,

I was meant to work in Holland!

They are a part of me,

I am apart of them.

They need me, I need them.

I want them to smell the flowers she never smelled!

I want them to create their Rembrandts that can release their souls!

I want them to feel the wind under their wings taking them places never dreamed of before!

Yes, Holland is where my heart thrives.

Holland is my heart’s home now.

More time,

Yes the pain never goes away,

but at some point I realized I could turn my pain into a gift,

and found when I gave from my heart to children that needed it most,

my heart became lighter,

the pain became easier to bear,

and my days became clearer and less grey.

I realize now this is where I was meant to be,

and if I had not crash landed in Holland,

I might have never found the ground at all,

maybe never even stopping to smell the tulips.

It’s been twenty-eight longing years…

Shortly I’ll be embarking on my first physical trip to Italy,

taking my second born with me.

She, and the three that followed are my everything.

Again, as fate would have it,

my second born was delivered six years to the day,

upon which a semester abroad in college found me sitting on top of the Giza Pyramid in Egypt,

watching the sun rise,

feeling it in my soul,

and feeding it in ways it would take decades for me to come to know.

She, my second born, now perusing a master’s in nursing,

will always have an inner light to help her find her way.

Soon I will experience Italy through the eyes of twenty-six high school children,

while sharing it with a nurse of my own.

This time I will land in Italy!

There will be the Coliseum,

Michelangelo’s David

Gondolas rides in Venice,

Pisa and Pompeii…

I know I’m ready, for now my heart is larger, stronger, and softer.

I know Lisa has been with me every step of the way.

I know I will never be alone…

I know her life has not been in vain,

she lives on every day in the children’s lives I share, touch and teach.

And yes,

wherever I go,

wherever I stay,

I will always stop to smell the flowers.