Grief teaches a mother lessons she never wanted to learn
My husband Brad came home to tell me what he had learned minutes earlier. Sarah is gone… Our Sarah-Grace. Our beautiful 24-year-old daughter. Dead. With three words and within mere seconds, I was shattered, gutted, disoriented. Any word that implies destruction, pain or confusion is relevant to that moment, but none alone, or combined, capture the devastation and confusion I felt after hearing those words.
Two years later, I’m trying not to evaluate a string of heavy days where my grief is so raw it feels frighteningly new. I remind myself that grief has nothing to do with functioning well or poorly, and the characteristics of it on any given day don’t mean much. Instead, I’ve learned that grief is my constant companion with a rhythm and intensity that’s unpredictable and often overwhelming.
Processing death, understanding grief
After Sarah died, I’d catch myself thinking that I’ll be relieved of this suffering because I’m trying so hard and I’m doing my best. The process of understanding that Sarah is dead, however, has been an agonizing and bizarre evolution.
First, there were the feelings of anticipation. Most days during the first year of grief, I’d tell myself, I can’t survive this. Then, Yes, I can. Just hold on. This will go away. When Sarah comes home. For a second, relief soothed my broken heart until truth slapped me in the face. No! That’s not true. These battles with reality went on for months. I don’t know what made them stop, but one day I simply noticed they had ended. ‘I’ve been defeated,’ I thought. ‘Truth and reality have won. I know the truth about Sarah will never change.’
In more grateful moments, I marvel at the way my psyche works to gently integrate this truth into my consciousness. When the words, Sarah can’t be gone, pop into my head, I recognize that my grief is changing. But it’s slow and subtle, and grief is still wildly and strangely independent of my other emotions, making any day unpredictable.
And these days, I have two kinds of days, OK/fine or bad/terrible. Both are unsettling. On the bad days, I wonder, will I be this way forever? On the OK days, I wonder, does this mean I’m over the trauma of Sarah’s death? I know the answer to both of those questions, but I’m new in this process and I don’t know what the future will bring, so I have to ask.
What I’ve learned about grief
All that I’ve learned as a grieving mother is only vaguely describable and not very teachable.
I remember in the early days being told that my grief will change. After two years, I can say that’s true, but I can’t really explain what’s changed other than, it’s different. Or, how it still feels painful, but in a different way. Or, what occurs to make that happen other than an excruciating breakdown of life and self, followed by the arduous rebuilding of everything. And that’s not very helpful.
So, when I read that people feel their child, or that they carry their child’s heart in their heart, I wonder how that came to be? What am I doing wrong that I don’t have that? Is it even true or possible? What does that even mean?
But I know there’s nothing of what I will come to understand about grieving and surviving the death of my daughter that can be fast-tracked or transferred from one person to another. I know I’ll find answers because parental grief is the most persistent and demanding teacher I’ve ever encountered. The insights are so painfully acquired.
Charting a path toward survival
I can’t imagine ever breathing easily when I think of or say the words Brad came home to deliver. I don’t even write them with ease.
I’m not innately wired to cope with the death of my child. Instead, I must consciously try not to fight against my grief and be, as is often said, present with it. That’s the second hardest thing about Sarah’s death — the daily decision to accept my grief and keep going. But I made a commitment to do just that on the day Sarah died.
That commitment was made during a desperate phone call to Brad’s brother Blaine as the two of us drove to the mortuary. Blaine and his wife, Cheryl, buried their only child, Kyle, 18 years and 5 months before we would bury Sarah. Brad and I had gone to the mortuary with them. We were broken-hearted for their loss and grateful we weren’t in their shoes.
“How do we do this, Blaine?” I sobbed. “How do we even survive?”
“You really have two choices,” he said. “You can either let it completely destroy you or you can try to keep living.”
Somehow, I got through the worst weeks of my life. Later, when time demanded a routine, I was unprepared for what was required of me to heed Blaine’s counsel. The seeming ease and comfort of giving up, rather than trying, has always been alluring.
So, I remind myself of the promise I made when Sarah died: That through every dark, gut-wrenching, lonely day, I will keep trying. I will slog through hell. What I learned in the conversation with Blaine still grounds me. Surprisingly, it’s not that he pointed out that we have a choice. Rather, it was the chilling summation of his advice, spoken with heavy, palpable sorrow. After giving us our two options, he added, “and I don’t have to tell you what I chose.”
I cry thinking about the price that was paid, so he could impart that wisdom.
Resolving to do it again
When Sarah died, I expected my grief and faith to be companions, but grief is lonely. At the end of the day, I’m alone with thoughts, questions and fears that make me an inhospitable environment for the whispers of spirituality. Yet, I still hold on to my faith, knowing a power beyond my own helps me through the minutes and hours.
And each day, I resolve to do it again, though it’s never an easy decision.
Doubt and dread can strike without warning. It’s a constant fight through pain and confusion. But, I want to keep trying, for those I love and for those who love me. And, missing Sarah as I do, I hope and pray that someday, somehow, I too will know what it means to carry her heart in my heart or feel her with me.
Sarah’s death on Nov. 7, 2016 brought devastation, pain and confusion to my life with a power that could have destroyed me, Brad, our two sons and youngest daughter. Today, one of the most important truths that keeps me going is Sarah wouldn’t want that to be her legacy. She doesn’t deserve it either.
So, to honor Sarah and her indelible place within our family, for Brad and our wonderful, grieving children, I do the hardest work I’ll ever do, even when it feels impossible.
Bea’s parents — Rachel and Erin Alder say they are “extraordinarily pleased” by Seattle City Council’s unanimous vote for paid bereavement leave and were thankful for the support they received throughout the process.
City employees no longer face impossible choice: to mourn their child or keep your job
This week, the Seattle City Council passed “Bea’s Law,” which extends paid family care leave benefits to city employees when their child dies. It is possibly the first paid bereavement law in the nation and a model for other forward-thinking elected leaders at all levels to follow.
The city ordinance is named after city employee Rachel Alder’s infant daughter Bea, who died in November 2017, only 36 hours after being born. Alder brought the issue to the city’s attention after she had to borrow paid time off from co-workers to take time away from work after her daughter died.
“Bea’s Law” is named after city employee Rachel Alder’s infant daughter Bea, who died in November 2017, only 36 hours after being born. Photo: Soulumination
Evermore executive director Joyal Mulheron commended Rachel Alder for her courage and advocacy to honor her daughter Bea and pioneer better support for bereaved parents.
“Bea’s parents Rachel and Erin are honoring their daughter in such a powerful way. On behalf of bereaved parents everywhere, I thank them and Seattle’s City Council for drafting and passing a landmark law that can be an example for elected leaders across the nation,” Mulheron said.
While the federal Family and Medical Leave Act gives eligible employees up to 12 weeks of unpaid leave to care for a new child, recover from a health setback or look after a spouse, child or parent who is ill, it does not include time off for parents to grieve the death of their son or daughter. The death of one’s child is a major omission among the list of conditions that qualify a worker for leave.
380,000 grieving families
The number of bereaved parents affected by shortsighted employment policies should create a sense of urgency for elected leaders to act. Each year, more than 380,000 children, from stillbirth to age 54, die, and hundreds of thousands of parents are left to mourn them.
One industry survey found that 69 percent of employers give parents just three days off after the death of their child. And when a parent is mourning after a miscarriage or stillbirth, that number drops to just 62 percent of employers who allow workers to take bereavement leave.
That’s hardly enough time for a parent to bury a child, much less seek support for managing an immense life change. And when forced to return to work too soon, it’s likely parents won’t be in a state-of-mind that will allow them to be productive and focused on the job or in a position to cope long term.
Research shows that grieving parents deal with long-term difficulties, including higher risks for other mental and physical health issues, along with decreased productivity at work and even lower earnings.
Leaders in two states and a city also have taken action.
Illinois’ Child Bereavement Leave Act requires employers who have at least 50 employees to provide up to 10 days of unpaid bereavement leave. Employees can use the time to attend the funeral, make arrangements after the death or just grieve.
In Oregon, the state’s Family Leave Act requires employers with 25 or more employees to give workers 12 weeks of unpaid bereavement leave.
And Tacoma, Wash., workers earn an hour of paid sick leave for every 40 hours worked. The law specifies bereavement of a family member, including a child, as a qualifying reason to take the leave.
On the national level, there also is a growing movement to expand the Family and Medical Leave Act. In February, the Parental Bereavement Act, originally introduced in 2011, received bipartisan support in the U.S. House and U.S. Senate. The bill would allow grieving parents of children under 18 years to take unpaid leave under FMLA. We’ll have more about the two dads who are behind the bill here on Evermore’s blog later this month.
Impossible choice
More, of course, must be done to support bereaved parents on the job.
“At Evermore, we regularly hear from parents who are faced with a tough choice: Will they take the time they need to mourn their child and lose their job in the process? Or, will they go right back to work in a vulnerable state without the support needed for long-term coping?,” Mulheron said.
Evermore is encouraging readers to contact their elected leaders at federal, state and municipal levels to extend FMLA to bereaved parents and provide paid leave where possible.
Because as Mulheron said: “No grieving parent should ever be forced to make that impossible decision.”
Bryan Burgess was killed in action during a 2011 deployment to Afghanistan just 16 days before he was scheduled to return home — a few weeks shy of his 30th birthday.
Telling and re-telling the story of his son’s life and sacrifice pulled Terry Burgess from deep depression
In the early morning hours before Terry Burgess learned that his son Bryan had been killed in action in Afghanistan, he had a vivid dream.
“We’re in this outdoor movie theater, me and Bryan,” Terry remembers. “He’s on the movie screen in his combat uniform and there’s a glass coffin beside him. He steps into the coffin and, when he lays down, he turns into my little boy Bryan, like seven or eight years old. Then little boy Bryan steps out of the coffin and becomes Bryan the soldier again. He gives me a salute and then the movie screen just goes — bam — white. That’s when I woke up to the phone ringing.”
The call was from Bryan’s wife, Tiffany, with the news that Bryan was gone. Terry and his wife Beth would receive an official notification through a visit from Army officers later that morning.
The next days and weeks were a whirlwind of events honoring Bryan. They met with their Casualty Assistance Officer from the Army, whose job it was to handle paperwork, and anything else they needed for a year.
Soon the cards and letters slowed, then stopped coming, Terry said. “The casseroles stop, people stop checking on you, and you’re just isolated.”
“After his funeral, after we got home from all the ceremonies, I just sank. I just literally sank. I was unemployed, I was laid off, I had no purpose,” he said.
Terry’s wife Beth was afraid for him. “He would just spend days and days and days just sitting… not talking, not eating, just sitting. While I’m at work, I’m terrified that I’m going to come home, and that he’s going to be gone, and I don’t know what to do about that….it was a very, very scary time,” she said.
Beth started looking for organizations that could help Gold Star parents and couldn’t find much. “There was a lot out there for the widows — understandably — and for kids and moms. But there was almost nothing for dads,” Beth said.
A documentary film changes everything
More than a year after Bryan’s death, the producers of a documentary called “The Hornet’s Nest” contacted Terry and Beth. The film used footage collected by an embedded journalist who traveled with Bryan’s unit in Afghanistan. Helmet and hand-held cameras captured the 360-degree firefight with the Taliban that claimed Bryan’s life, and included an interview with Bryan, talking about how much he missed his children. The film’s producers asked Terry and Beth to screen a rough cut of the film, hoping to earn the approval of the Gold Star families before releasing it to the public.
“Beth got me out of bed and got me cleaned up,” Terry said. They traveled to Dallas to watch it. “And there was Bryan in his army uniform on screen. It was a slap in the face for me.”
Terry felt he suddenly understood what his dream on the morning of Bryan’s death had been about. “I thought, ‘that’s what Bryan was trying to tell me,” says Terry. “I can’t just spend my life mourning the loss of my little boy. The innocent little boy had to die when Bryan became a soldier. Now he wants me to salute him back however I can.”
Bryan’s story reflects others’ combat experience
For over a year, Terry and Beth toured with the film, visiting military bases and colleges and other venues. Every time they watch it, “it rips us apart,” Terry said. “But I tell people that it saved my life.”
Terry, Beth and the other families involved in the film were asked to speak at each screening. “It was a lot of holding hands and squeezing hands… a lot of tears,” Terry said. “It was kind of cathartic for us because we got to tell Bryan’s story to so many people who wouldn’t have heard it otherwise.”
Bryan with his children Makya and Zander.
The screenings also gave them an opportunity to help educate the public about the ways that combat changes the lives of the veterans who survive.
“Bryan changed the very first time he went to Iraq and came home. He was a completely different person. And it was very hard to connect with him,” Beth said. “A lot of what we did was just to help everybody understand everything that the guys were going through when they came home, because they all carry a huge amount of survivor’s guilt.
Reaching other Gold Star fathers
Last year, Terry published a memoir about the family’s experience of losing Bryan titled When Our Blue Star Turned Gold. It’s given him a broader audience to continue to tell Bryan’s story and reach out to other parents, especially fathers.
Bryan and his dad Terry, who started Gold Star Parents retreat and network.
“My biggest hope is to reach more dads,” Terry stressed. “There is a very high suicide rate among Gold Star dads. The more of them we can reach, and save, or just help…. We just want to let them know they’re not alone.”
New speaking engagements and publicity for Terry’s book, including an interview on NBC’s Today show, have helped to fill the annual retreat he and Beth created for Gold Star parents. They aim to keep making room for any parent in need.
“We tell Bryan’s story,” Beth said. “And we help as many people as we can to tell their stories.”
America salutes Terry and Beth
As the nation searches for ways to recognize another Memorial Day weekend, they can draw inspiration from a 2011 American Airlines flight. Following Bryan’s funeral, Terry and Beth boarded a flight to head home. They were crouched in the very last row of the plane, emotionally exhausted. The Casualty Assistance Officer, who had been with Terry and Beth since Bryan’s death notification, contacted the airlines.
Touched by their sacrifice and Bryan’s service, the pilot took time to meet the Burgess’. Sitting across Terry and taking Beth’s hands he said, “I want you all to know how very, very sorry I am for your loss. I’m fixing to be deployed to Afghanistan myself.” They shared stories of Bryan and appreciated the compassion and comradery.
As the plane approached its destination, the pilot announced, “We have parents of a fallen soldier on the plane. I would appreciate it if everyone would stay seated and let them disembark first. Let them go home.”
With Beth carrying their newly received flag in her arms, fellow passengers stood still, applauding them as they disembarked. As they passed through first class, a veteran stood up and saluted Terry and Beth.
In that moment, America stood with Terry and Beth. They were not alone.
*Read more in the story of how Bryan’s dad recognized his son’s caring, protective nature early and continues to honor him: “A Legacy of Protecting Others.”
