Anyway, I was so nervous. I had some time to waste so I went to get a coffee at the Whole Foods Cafe. I walked in and the first thing I saw was beer taps. OMG. They have a bar at Whole Foods. Who knew? I didn't know this. Of course, I don't normally shop at Whole Foods. I booted the coffee idea and instead opted for a Lager of the Lakes pint. I figure it was legit. You know, having a beer before my first grief group. It ended up being a good call. It took the edge off.
The group met at the First Presbyterian Church downtown Ann Arbor. It's a beautiful church and there was an orchestra group practicing. I was early so I sat a bit and watched and listened. It felt odd to be in a church pew. I haven't been in a church in a while. In 2014 I went to mass a few times but I don't think I made it once in 2015. By choice. (Which is another blog post for a later date.) Anyway, it was comfortable. I didn't have the church anxiety I thought I would have. Then again, I had beer in my stomach.
Finally it was time to go up to the room the meeting was held in. There were a few people already there and a few more ended up coming after me. Everything we talk about is confidential so while I can't share specifics, I can say it was a very diverse group. There were people whose children died years ago. There was another man whose daughter died one week after my Willy died. I later found out her birthday is close to Willy's as well so I think he will be one of my good friends in the group.
What struck me is how many ways the children had died. I'm used to living in a world where children have terminal illnesses and, to large extent, you know they will die at some point. It is kind of normal for me in the circles I move around in. But as we went around the table telling our stories, I realized there was much more to the loss of a child than a terminal illness. Some died in house fires. Some in car accidents. There were a couple others who had children with cancer. There was an overdose. All ages too. Adult children, infant children, and everything in between. And THIS was the reason I wanted a grief group that was all about parents losing children. There is something different about a parent losing a child. Different than losing a parent or a grandparent.
I don't mean to downplay the grief that comes from losing a parent or grandparent or other loved one. Please don't misunderstand. But everything I've read about losing a child indicates there's a nuance that can't quite be described. We know it's against the natural order of things to lose a child. As a parent, your job is to protect your children, keep them safe. When you lose a child, you weren't able to do that. (By no fault of your own.) You think of all the birthdays. You wonder what they would have become had they lived. You think about what they missed. They didn't have a chance at life like adults do. Therein lies part of the nuance.
Willy had the cognition of about a 4-year old. Face it. He wouldn't have grown up and got married. But he would have been my baby. My very large baby. I would have taken care of him no matter how big he got. It didn't matter to me that he couldn't walk or talk. I grieved that a long time ago. He was cuddly and sweet. And he didn't sass.
Truth is, as I wrote in a prior blog post, I thought I had already grieved him when he was diagnosed. I thought that the grief when he died would be mitigated. I was very wrong and that is a large part of what has hurt about this process. I explained this to my group and they gave some very good advice that has helped. I have a lot to learn about grief and I think the group will help me with that. And to be honest, it was refreshing to be with a group of people who didn't have terminal children. Anytime I can step away from my normal world and get a new perspective is welcomed.
Some people cried, some laughed, there were some jokes told that only bereaved parents could understand, and promises to get in touch with someone if grief became unbearable. Reach out.
After the group was over, I went and sat with my Great Aunt Madeline for a few hours. She's on hospice at a nearby retirement community. I've been close with her for a long time -- since we moved to Ann Arbor when I was 12. So although she's 99 years old and had a good life, it's still sad. Watching her struggle for words all while knowing she is nearing the end of her days here is tough. We had a good talk. I helped her change into her pajamas, gave her a foot rub, and got her some toast. It felt good to be a caretaker again.
After I left Aunt Madeline's, I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast. And this was about 8:00 at night. I drove straight to Little Ceasars, bought a Hot 'n Now pizza and some cheesy breadsticks and ate. A lot. Took a bath and went to bed. I was completely emotionally drained. But it felt good.
We all die. Whether you're an 11-year old boy who dies of a terminal brain disorder and complications thereof, or a 99-year old great grandma. There's a grief process that is different for everyone in every situation. I'm still figuring mine out. But my new group will definitely be part of it.
Link to Compassionate Friends:
http://www.compassionatefriends.org/Find_Support/Chapters/Chapter_Locator.aspx
Link to the Ann Arbor chapter of Compassionate Friends:
http://tcfannarbormich.org/
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