Parent – Letter from Susan

My name is Susan Whitmore, and, most importantly, I am Erika Whitmore Godwin's mother. I am also the founder and CEO of griefHaven. Your request for this Packet of Hope was sent directly to me, and whatever you wrote about your person I read, as I do with every request. Though griefHaven continues to grow, one thing I will always do is read every word every person writes about his or her loved one. It is an honor and privilege to be invited into your life at such a difficult time. So thank you for trusting and sharing with us.

For the first six years after I started griefHaven, I included a personal letter with every Packet of Hope. I loved having the time to do that. I thought I would be able to do that forever. I had no idea, then, that griefHaven would end up supporting the hundreds of thousands of people that it does today. When it became impossible to write each person individually, I realized that, though I can’t write a personal letter to each person, I can write something that is meaningful and, hopefully, will provide a better understanding of this grief journey we are all on together. So that is what this letter is—a letter from me about my own journey of rebuilding my life without Erika, as well as information from my years of research and education about grief as the grief specialist I am today.

First, I want you to know that I am so saddened and sorry to learn about your parent. I lost my beloved father when he was just 70. I was only in my early forties—too young, I thought, to live all of the years ahead of me without him. He was my rock—my go-to person for so many things. There was still so much life ahead that I knew he would miss. Of course, little did I know the most important of those would be the death of my child—his grandchild, Erika.

As I write to you, I find myself thinking, "I wish there were some way for me to string together just the right words to express my sorrow for you and offer my comfort.” Yet, there are no adequate words to describe the journey of grief. In fact, Mark Twain, a master at painting pictures with words, was left utterly speechless when he attempted to express how he felt after the death of his daughter. He wrote, “To do so would bankrupt the vocabulary of all the languages.”

Another writer, C.S. Lewis, once wrote, “We read to know that we are not alone.” So I hope as you continue to read these words you will know that you are not alone and will take to heart those things within this letter that can help you. People tell us that they read this letter over and over throughout the years and find different things within it that help them as time goes by. Some of what you read you will relate to now, some you will relate to later, and some may not be a part of your journey at all, as we are each unique in the ways we grieve. And yet we share many similarities. Though some of what I write is my personal experience of losing my child, most likely you will see that often you could replace my name with yours, for you will see yourself within these words. Sometimes people compare losses and feel theirs is bigger or smaller than another’s. Yet trust me when I say that these words are the universal threads of truth that weave us together and unite us, heart to heart. How can we possibly “compare” one person’s loss to another? We can’t.

GriefHaven is here today because of my beautiful daughter, Erika Whitmore Godwin. Erika died in 2002, when she was 32, had just married, and was about to turn the page to a new chapter of her life, which would have included being a wife, teacher, and, one day, a mother. Erika had never been so happy or fulfilled as she began her new life in Canada with her husband, Sandy Godwin. Yet, those plans did not come to fruition. An extremely rare sinus cancer ended her life.

Erika was my best friend. My love for her and my journey of rebuilding my life without her became the springboard to starting this foundation. When the gut-wrenching pain of Erika’s death came flooding in, I quickly learned that no other loss had experienced in life had prepared for the pain of losing Erika. That is when I just knew I had to do something to help others who were suffering. Erika, a bright light who helped show me the way in life, now guides me in a different way. I have brought her with me into my new life, making sure she is a part of my everyday life. I know you will do the same with your parent.

When Erika died, I felt utterly lost and alone. “How can I possibly survive this pain?” I would wonder. I had rebuilt my life after the death of my father many years prior, yet surprisingly to me that did not prepare me for this. I questioned whether anyone else could possibly have had the unique and special bond Erika and I shared. I quickly learned that every person shares a unique bond with their loved one, regardless of their age or circumstance. I learned that when someone dies, so too do the many unique aspects of that relationship. For instance, with my father, every year we would sit down together and go over who was running for political office, what the initiatives were, and how each of us would vote. Yes, my father was very political, something I often simply “endured” when he talked about politics incessantly. Now I cherish those intellectual debates and interesting discussions with him, sometimes wishing I could just have one more minute.

Saying goodbye to a parent is one of the hardest things to do. It is also something that almost everyone goes through if they live long enough. Does that make it easier? No. There is also the fact that people lose their parents at different ages. Having a parent in our lives until we are in our 60s, 70s or 80s is different than losing a parent when we are very young. There is also the aspect of expected loss as compared to sudden and unexpected loss. No matter how our parent dies, it hurts.

Losing a parent can mean many different things to different people: a loss of a trusted friend or confidante, one’s childhood or innocence, a part of oneself, the glue that held the family together, a trusted friend with whom you might have traveled and simply enjoyed spending time with, and much more. The bond with a parent is unique and the loss impactful. “You are now forced to cope with the loss of parental love and attention that was given uniquely to you, and that you depended on, possibly even took for granted.” says Carol Staudacher, grief educator, consultant, and author of the book “Beyond Grief.” As the children, regardless of our age, we depend upon our parents, and that dependence changes as we age. Parents are caretakers. They typically provide us with information about the world, as well as moral support. They also shape our perceptions about ourselves, and that can continue well into adulthood.

The circumstances of your parent’s death will impact the intensity of your grief. These factors include the current and past relationship with your parent, as well as your age at the time your parent died. The timing of the death also affects what might be the normal reactions for you. Was the death sudden and unexpected? Was there long-term suffering involved? The upshot is that there are so many personal factors that determine your grief experience and play a role in how you will rebuild your life without your parent there.

I always used to think, “No matter what happens in life, at least Erika will be there.” This was understandable in that Erika was my child, and it is assumed we will outlive our children. Yet even though we know that one day our parents will leave this world and us behind without them, we still feel understandably alone in the throes of grief, since we have been left behind by someone so dear. Yet though the grieving process may often feel like a lonely one, that doesn’t mean we actually are alone. Thousands of people who are years ahead of you on this journey stand as pillars of hope, a precious reservoir of wisdom, support, compassion, and understanding. They are the only ones who can legitimately say, “I know.”

What is this grief that has become a part of our lives? Most likely, when it came flooding in, it shocked you with its intensity and tenacity. Of the many definitions of grief, this is the one I like the best: Grief is what happens when the service is over, when the doorbell and phone don’t keep ringing, when the initial shock and adrenalin reactions have diminished, when family members have returned to their homes, when food stops being delivered to the doorstep, when all the I’m sorry for your loss notes have been read—and then you stand there wondering, Now what? Typically, this is when the real grief journey begins.

Grief can be exhausting, scary, and painful. It affects us on every level: physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. So part of the grief process is gaining a greater understanding OF grief, which will then help us learn what to expect and how better to deal with it.

Why do we have to grieve? It feels so horrific, depletes us of hope and energy, changes our colorful world to gray, and turns everything we knew upside-down and inside-out. The answer is simple: because grief is a normal, healthy, and natural response to loss. It is what our bodies naturally do. I often say to people learning to support persons who are grieving, “If your friend were coughing and choking because something was caught in her throat, you wouldn’t say to her, ‘Oh, don’t cough.’ Instead, you would show concern, see if you could help, and encourage her to get it out.” Yet, when people grieve, well-meaning friends and family often say, “Oh, don’t cry.” That is not helpful, nor a healthy approach to grief.

No two people grieve alike. There is no wrong way to grieve except not to grieve at all. Everyone finds his or her own way. The goal of grief is to “get out” what is inside of us. How we get it out is up to us and determined by what helps us release the intensity of the feelings and thoughts, even if just for a brief period of time. In many cases, we find persons grieving in opposite ways over the same person who died. For instance, I was very expressive outward with my grief. I wanted to be with people. I kept busy, and the distraction helped me. My husband, Wendell, was the opposite. He generally cried softly, as his eyes filled with tears and those tears ran down his face. He found comfort in his work, and it was a good distraction for him every day. He wanted to be alone when he wasn’t working and often got lost in a book. Those are examples of how very differently we grieved. But both were healthy, and both were appropriate for our personalities. AND both worked.

New fMRI (Functional MRI) studies validate the importance of grieving freely. Through these studies, we know that grieving actually creates new neural pathways in the brain. Yes, grieving changes our brains, helping us learn to live with our loss. Through fMRIs, we are learning much more about grief and what goes on in our brains. These studies are extremely exciting to me and something in which griefHaven will continue to participate. We will keep you informed of new findings through our newsletters, website, and Facebook. So be sure you are on our mailing list and that you visit our website as much as you can.

Grief hurts. And what have we been taught to do when anything is causing us pain? To find out what is causing the pain so we can “get rid of it.” We live our lives generally equating pain with something bad. Most often, our bodies send pain messages to us as a way of telling us that something is wrong. So when something as painful as grief suddenly hits us, our understandable reaction is to want to get rid of it, push it down, or fight it. Seldom does anyone think of actually embracing the pain and sorrow of grief.

Embrace the pain. Sit down in it. Try not to fight it. Let it wash through you. I used to pretend the grief was a big, overstuffed chair, and I would envision myself snuggling down into it. It was difficult at first, but soon it worked. You can picture it in whatever way gives you the image of it coming, helping, and then passing as it washes through you, giving you relief.

Where do you feel your grief? I felt it in my stomach. Some people feel it across their chest or heart area. Others feel it in other places. I could feel a build-up of the grief as a “pit” in my stomach; others describe it as a heaviness around their heart—an “elephant sitting on my chest.” I learned that the “pit” in my stomach would go away when I would cry. Then it would start to build again, and the cycle continued until one day I realized the grief was softer and didn’t come as often. Then it came less and less and was easier to manage. Eventually, I started to enjoy things that before were not even on my radar: I laughed, I appreciated simple things, I enjoyed food again, and I began to look forward to those things in which I had lost interest.

The novelist, Arnold Bennett, once said, "There can be no knowledge without emotion. We may be aware of a truth, yet until we have actually felt its force, it is not ours." When our loved one dies, we are blindsided by the feelings associated with that death. Grief is one of the most enduring emotions we can experience. Allow yourself to grieve and seek out the support available as you take this journey. Consider being open to trying anything at least once that might help you. Your commitment to yourself will bring you the gift of living and loving life again. I call this self-compassion.

Let’s talk more about what we are going through and what we can do. As I began facing the days without Erika, the shear force of the grief often frightened me. I had no idea what was happening to me. I wanted to die, and though I knew I would never, ever end my life, I often wished for death to happen naturally. I realize now that it wasn’t that I actually wanted to die; I just wanted the pain to end. What helped at those lowest periods was reminding myself that others ahead of me on the grief path were doing well. I would remember their words of wisdom and hope: I promise that you won’t always feel the way you do now, that you will know happiness and joy again. They were right. I held onto their words with every tear that fell from my eyes, and I encourage you to let those words of truth ring through you at your lowest periods.

Do you find yourself apologizing to people when you cry? Do you find yourself staying away from people or events because you feel like your presence will only upset them—as if, perhaps, it is your responsibility to protect them? Richard Riordan, former Mayor of Los Angeles, has something to say about that. Riordan and his wife, Genie Riordan Mulé, lost two children only 24 months apart. During an interview with him for our documentary film, “Portraits of Hope: The Parent’s Journey,” Riordan shared this: “I would be sitting in an important city Board Meeting with prominent executives and members of political committees and feel that wave of grief coming. I got to the point where I would just sit there and cry.” He said he would take out a tissue and “let it out” until the grief naturally subsided. He added, “I got to the point where I never apologized for my tears, and I never felt that I was responsible for making anyone else feel better.” I learned a lot from him, and I hope you will too. You have nothing to apologize for, and it certainly is not your job to soothe others who might be uncomfortable with your emotions. Let them figure out how and why they feel uncomfortable. That often leads to their becoming more compassionate. Riordan also gave this tidbit of wisdom, “Once the crying ends, you can get up and do other things. You don’t have to grieve 24/7.” Yes, once you have expressed your grief, feel free to get up and do something, even if just watching television, writing in your journal, or reading a book.

If you have children, please share your grief in age-appropriate ways. For instance, if your children are very young, screaming and wailing around them would only frighten them. For more information about appropriate grieving around your children, let us send you the information on children and grief. You may also want to check out the short book, Children Grieve Too, by Lauren Schneider, available on our website and Amazon. It is a great resource and very easy to read and use.

Regarding timelines or stages of grief, we know that grief has no predictable timelines or stages. Many people are surprised when they discover that their pain continues for a longer period of time than they expected. Still today, the mental health community gives us one year to grieve or, they claim, we have Complicated Grief, an actual illness or disorder as defined in the DSM. THAT is absurd! Grief has no timeline, and it is not a linear process, like having the flu and seeing yourself getting better each day. It is more like a rollercoaster ride, up and down, up and down. The notion of “grief stages” comes from confusion over Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’ work with those preparing to die. In her attempt to explain what the dying person goes through to prepare for and accept death, she came up with the now famous “five stages.” Those stages are tied to a dying person, not a person who is grieving. Wouldn’t it be neat and handy if grieving persons started with stage 1, finished that and moved to stage 2, finished that, and so forth? We know that is not grief’s way.

Your mind is the greatest video camera of all time, so it might have recorded traumatic experiences you had with your parent’s death or even experiences you imagined which you actually didn’t witness. Either way, those recorded moments can keep playing back over and over, like an endless loop. It would be great if we could just hit the “stop” or “delete” button, but our minds don’t work that way. At griefHaven, we devised a very basic, simple exercise that, used regularly, helps stop those painful, looping thoughts. We use it with all our grief support groups. Please email me if you are interested in learning more about it.

Many persons find themselves easily annoyed with others who appear shallow, such as those who shower them with unhelpful platitudes such as: “He’s in a better place,” “It was God’s will,” “It must have been her time,” “He wouldn’t want you to be unhappy,” “Be strong," and, "I know how you feel.” Most often comments like those are not helpful or comforting. It can also be difficult to be around another person who is complaining about something. Dr. Jack Jordan, grief and suicide specialist, educator, and author, said during our interview for The Sibling Voice April 2012 newsletter:

Grieving persons and siblings, and grieving individuals in general, have a right and need to learn how to protect themselves from hurtful people. Most people say the wrong things because they are unaware of their impact on the grieving person, but there are also those who either think they know what is best for someone who is grieving or who deliberately say and do hurtful things. Unfortunately, grieving people need to learn how to manage those situations, which is a learned skill that people can acquire with good support. They learn them by educating themselves about grief, by receiving support from others, and through a process of trial and error. This is easier for some and harder for others. In the beginning, both children and adult grievers are so fragile and vulnerable that they are caught off guard and end up letting inappropriate comments slide, walking away feeling even more hurt. Others are able to let people know that what was said or done was either hurtful or not comforting. Once the griever becomes more confident, they can begin to choose to either avoid people who continually hurt them, or, if they stay engaged with that person, let the person know that their comment was hurtful. I suggest that people who hear judgmental and hurtful comments respond by saying, “How do you think that makes me feel when you say that?” or “Do you think that it is helpful when you say that?” People need to give themselves permission to avoid others or protect themselves from people who may be well-meaning, but who actually make the person feel worse, not better.

A response I use successfully is something like this: “I know you want to help me, which is why I want to let you know that, for me, that comment just isn’t helpful or comforting.” We would encourage you to prepare yourself with responses for those who make unhelpful comments from their lack of awareness and understanding. Most of the time, these people mean well and simply don’t know what to say or do. Let them know what you want and need (if you know), and guide them to our website so they may educate themselves. You can also forward our instructive online newsletters to whomever you like. Other specialists, such as Dr. Neimeyer, suggest that people simply say lovingly, “I am unable to do that right now, but thanks for the suggestion,” or “I will keep that in mind as I go forward.” His input is that we don’t have to “take in” what they are saying, but do keep in mind that most people mean well and simply slip up because they are at a loss from lack of experience. Either approach is up to you.

I am not one to stereotype, yet professionals agree—and I have personally experienced it both in my own relationship and in my grief counseling work—that most often significant differences exist in the way men and women express their grief. Much of that is due to physiological differences in the way men and women are wired, differences in the ways they are raised and impacted by societal values regarding emotions, and disparate ways they are taught to deal with pain. Heck, we even know now from science that there are “male” and “female” brains! As for Wendell and me, I was very upset in the beginning that Wendell wasn’t emoting the way I was. I couldn’t figure out how he could love Erika so much and not be sobbing the way I was. I quickly discovered that Wendell not crying a lot didn’t mean he didn’t love Erika, nor that he wasn’t experiencing tremendous pain. Lack of tears doesn’t always equal lack of grief. And, for his part, Wendell learned that my loud, verbal, emotional grieving was the only way I could release my pain. He soon discovered that he could do nothing to make my pain go away or “fix” things, but that he could let me know I wasn’t alone, that I was loved, and that we were on this journey together.

I recommend to people who are married that, when one is experiencing the loss of a parent while the other is not, that you show your partner you care and make sure not to judge the way the other is grieving. Also, please do not try to force your partner to do something just because you feel it would be best or because it worked for you at some point. This is a time when your partner needs you to at least understand what works and doesn’t work with his or her grief. For instance, you might think your grieving partner needs to get out more, and your partner might find comfort and solace in simply being at home, especially in the beginning. If that is what your partner needs, then go with it.

I am regularly asked certain questions. Here are some of those questions and my responses:

When will this pain end? ? The pain will begin to get softer, more manageable, come less often, stay less time when it does come, and not be as overwhelming. Major turning points in this regard are so individual that I cannot be more specific.

Will I ever get over this? We don’t really “get over” losing someone we love, nor do we find closure. This doesn't just happen magically. It takes you being a partner in this process, the same as you would if you were dealing with a serious disease that you had to treat on a daily basis. As you go on in life, you create a new relationship with your loved one, incorporating him or her into your life in the way that works best for you. One thing we encourage you to do is to make sure you and those around you keep your relationship with your parent alive and well. After all, your parent is still an important part of your life and a member of your family. Death has the power to end your loved one’s physical life, but it can never, ever end your relationship. That is forever.

I’m afraid I will always feel the way I do now. You won’t. I wish we could impart to you how often people say this to us, and we also said the same thing. We have walked miles along the same path you are just starting to walk upon. Again, it takes a commitment to your own, personal grief process—to your own wellbeing and health. Unfortunately, no one else can do this grief work for you or take it from you. Yet, you are not alone, even when you feel you are.

Will the joy, love, and happiness in life ever return? Yes. It will, and it does. Be patient with yourself, and let your grief express itself as it may. Allowing your free expression of grief will help lead to embracing life again.

How will I go on without my parent? There isn’t a formula or cookie-cutter approach I can give you. You will do this by making that commitment I have talked about, being open to trying everything out there, and doing what works for you. Just know that you will find your way and that you don’t have to do it alone, for within the stories other people share are many truths and pearls of wisdom that will help guide you along the way—common threads that bind us together.

For easy reference, here is a concise listing of grief strategies many parents have found helpful, some of which I have already discussed:

  • Be open to trying everything at least once—you won’t know for sure what might be helpful until you try it.
  • Reach out to those who care for you and won’t abandon you on this grief journey.
  • Connect with others who have lost their parent and know how to support you.
  • Let others know what you want and need; what works and what doesn’t.
  • Allow yourself to cry freely as often as you need, then continue with daily activities.
  • Let yourself go at your own pace, following your intuition as to whether or not you can handle something.
  • Be willing to say “no” when you feel you simply can’t do something.
  • Confide in a friend or spiritual advisor you trust who won’t judge you.
  • Attend grief support groups.
  • Consult with a therapist or grief specialist experienced in dealing with loss.
  • Use grief resources, such as those provided by griefHaven and other support organizations.
  • Be willing to tell people when their comments or actions are unhelpful or hurtful.
  • Accept that some of your current relationships with friends or extended family may change—you may decide that some no longer work, while, on the other hand, you will gain new friendships.
  • As you deem necessary, change the way you celebrate special events or holidays.
  • Regularly write a “no-holds-barred” private journal.
  • Do your best to get adequate nutrition and sleep—see a specialist if either of these areas become especially difficult.
  • Do your best to get some exercise, even if it is an easy, brief walk every few days.
  • Read material that may interest you, perhaps even writings about grief.
  • Difficult as it may be, make yourself, at times, leave your house to more fully experience everyday life.
  • Plan something ahead that you are committed to doing, such as lunch with a friend.
  • When some time has passed and you can, help someone else. Science shows over and over that helping another only helps us back!

Your entire “being” is going through this loss, you are heartbroken, and it is impacting you on deep levels you may not even have known were within you. You could say that this path of grief leaves "no stone unturned.” And though waves of grief do recur, you will see that they come less often and are often smaller. So as each week, month, and year passes, you are closer and closer to that joy, love, and happiness you so long to experience again. And you will. I promise. Please hang onto that promise during the times when you want to give up and all seems so hopeless. It isn’t hopeless. Everything you are doing now is laying new ground for later. Later, when you are ready, rebuilding a life of joy and happiness will become more realistic.

Rebuilding our lives with new meaning and purpose takes a strong commitment. You and your loved ones are worth it. You will embrace life’s beauty and joy again and experience the fullness life has to offer. Within that, then, you will have found your new life. A good life.

You are and always will be your beloved parent’s child. Use the good memories to keep your parent alive and an integral part of your life forever.

From my heart to yours,

Susan Whitmore, BS/BM, CGC
Founder and CEO
Grief Specialist

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