Grief shared is grief halved
Note of explanation. FVVH is the Fox Valley Volunteer Hospice in Geneva, IL. GTAH is Grief Takes A Hike, a weekend healing excursion for kids 5 to 21 years old and their parents, who’ve had a significant death loss. We’re bussed to a campground outside Lake Geneva, WI. This was from the 2011 trip, my first.
Arriving at FVVH on Friday afternoon, I was nervous. This was my first time at GTAH and I didn’t know what to expect. At the final planning event, the veterans of GTAH said it was a wonderful experience, not to be missed. I was excited and ready to go, but wasn’t sure where I was going from an emotional perspective. I’d read the family stories of loss, confusion, anger and pain and figured they would probably be nervous as well. Some saying, “I can’t wait for the camp to start.” Others saying, “I can’t wait for the camp to end.” At the staff meeting a few weeks prior, I’d asked if I could ride the bus. I wanted to jump right in and meet the campers right away. The team leader, Christy, said that would be fine. Even though I was going to be a floater for the most part, I wanted to see faces, interact with the families and figure out how I could help. Creating trust is the most important part of our giving. Trust creates sharing which creates healing.
A neatly organized table greeted campers at FVVH for signing in, filling out forms and asking questions. The staff was friendly and welcoming. Legos, crayons and colored paper filled another table. That was a great idea. The sense I felt in the room from the adults and teens who filtered in was one of nervousness and apprehension. There was lots to absorb, lots to figure out, lots to wonder about. Families stayed in their comfort zones, huddled together. The sense I got from the little kids was excitement. This was more of an adventure for them. Two were working on Legos so I sat down and started working on Legos too. One was building a space ship, the other a battle ship. An age appropriate mess covered the table. Lots of chatter,
clutter and enthusiasm. What’s so terrific about little kids is they’ll play with anybody. There’s no judgment or cautiousness, just,“Hey, you wanna play?”
I was told I was going to be in charge of Saturday afternoon lawn games. “Sounds perfect,” I said. Merit, the team leader for the kids, showed me the things I was going to need. I took the bag outside and set it on on the sidewalk to put on the bus. I noticed one of the teens sitting on the stairs by himself. “Hey, you want to play some soccer,” I called out. “No,” was his answer. That was fine, he’s allowed his space. In an attempt to draw him out little, I asked if he’d please hold the soccer ball while I filled it with air. He came over. He held, I pumped. I asked if he thought there was enough air. He gave his okay and sat back on the stairs.
“I’m going to take the ball over to the field and see if I can find anyone to play. Come on over if you feel like it,” I said. “Okay, thanks,” he said, but didn’t move.
More kids started arriving. I invited them all. None accepted. No one wanted to stand out and be noticed. I told them where I’d be if they wanted to play. I could tell they were nervous, not knowing me, not knowing exactly what was going on. Finally I got a “Yes” from two. I got their names, gave them mine. We headed to the field and started kicking the ball around. Within five minutes, the other kids I’d invited started showing up and standing on the sidelines, not sure if they should come out or not. I asked their names and introduced everybody around. “Come on. Let’s get a game going,” I called out. Two kids took off their shoes to outline the goals. Two other kids volunteered to be captains and before I knew it, we had eight kids running up and down the field, laughing and having fun. It was terrific. I told them I was one of the permanent goalies. “Don’t run like I used to,” I said. No one protested. It was just that easy to get a game going. Kids might not want to talk about stuff, especially to an adult they don’t trust yet, but ask them to get involved in something physical and it can usually happen. Thirtyminutes later and with a lot of hard breathing, sweating and luckily no injuries, I stopped the game for a break and we headed inside.
In the lobby I started talking with a wife/mom/grandmother whose husband had died within the past four months. That dreaded and hateful disease of cancer took his body. She was very sad for herself, her daughter and step granddaughter. She was mad too. It just wasn’t fair. He was a good guy; Chicago cop. Good husband and dad too. The tough journey had begun. How brave of her and the kids (perhaps reluctantly) to get involved with their grief and take on the challenge of working towards a better tomorrow.
The bus pulled up and luggage began to fill the sidewalk. As we loaded I thought about my role and what my goals should be for the camp. I decided that since my assignment was the sporting events, my goal was one of distraction. They were going to get a lot of “head and heart” work during their groups. Those would be difficult, draining and perhaps very confusing. Grief work is hard work. I wanted to take them from work to play. I wanted to do what I could to create smiles, laughter and a physical outlet for their grief. Even though on a conscious level, they wouldn’t know what I was doing, I was hopeful there would be benefit.
Before getting on the bus, Merit formed a circle on the lawn. We all held hands. Funny thing about holding hands for the first time. Some squeezed, some barely touched, most were nervous. That changed by the closing ceremony. In hindsight, I would call it our Circle of Hope. Holding hands, touching shoulders, idle chatter was the start of creating a community of broken/healing hearts with one common goal. Our search for hope. Our search for an understanding of grief. Merit spoke wonderful words of encouragement and offered her best wishes.
As we boarded the bus, we were each handed a bagged lunch and a bottle of water. Whoever made those lunches did an outstanding job. Everyone was very appreciative. The volunteers and staff did a wonderful job during registration. They were comforting, informative and answered all questions as they wished us well and sent us on our way.
That bus was nice! It was like a luxury airliner on wheels. I felt like a rock star. Jenny, a fellow volunteer, and I sat in the seat behind Howard, our
driver. Our conversation was great. I learned about her and she learned about me. I enjoyed the ride very much. A movie was loaded, we ate our lunches, many napped and the time passed. Good thing no one pulled out a camera because most people aren’t at their viewing best when sleeping.
We arrived at camp to a rousing welcome from the FVVH staff and volunteers, all festooned in their colored shirts, clapping and smiling. Hugs all around. The last passenger off was a little boy who couldn’t unlock the door in the bus bathroom. He was too small to reach the handle. He didn’t seem too upset, but his grandma surely was. The bus driver finally sprang him. It was a gorgeous evening in a beautiful, secluded wooded setting. We headed to the lodge with our luggage. Staff had created unloading areas with family names. Great idea. Luggage was dumped, bathrooms used. Our first destination was the chapel for opening ceremonies.
Elise, our leader for the weekend, warmly greeted us all, letting the campers know how much we admired their courage and thanking them for coming. It can take a great leap of faith to create a new comfort zone like the campers were doing. In essence, what they were saying was, “I feel horrible, but I don’t want to feel horrible forever. I’m frightened, but I don’t want fear to direct my life. I want to try. I want to understand what my pain is and allow it to teach me.” Congratulations to them. The staff of FVVH, those in front of and behind the scenes, along with the volunteers, were to be congratulated as well. We were saying, “We’re honored to partner with you in this part of your journey. We’re here to help. Thanks for letting us be a part of your lives.”
Carol Ann, adult therapist, had set up the memory table. It was beautiful and a perfect setting to start the weekend journey. The black umbrella was a poignant reminder of how dark our lives can become when someone we love dies. The umbrella did not stay black. Hope changed that. After introduction of staff, some moving and powerful songs, Elise invited each family to come to the front of the room, place a photo of their loved one on the table, introduce themselves and just as importantly, introduce their loved one and light a candle of remembrance. Like most grief groups, no one moved. Eyes darted around the room saying, “I don’t want to go first. You go first. I’m nervous and scared.” Eventually a brave soul stood and walked to the front. The
flood gates were opened, others were then eager to follow. We met everyone, the living as well as the dead. We saw sad faces and heard slow, soft voices. Tears were shed. Tears were shared. A hand reached across a shoulder with a gentle rub. There were touches and nods of encouragement. A child buried her face in her mom’s shoulder as she sobbed and sobbed.
The opening ceremony set the tone for the weekend and was compassionately orchestrated. It was a tone of encouragement. The opening ceremony said, “We’re here to help each other. We’re a community of broken and healing hearts on this journey together. Arm in arm, hand in hand, heart to heart we will move forward with hope, compassion and understanding.” It was wonderful. The ceremony concluded by gathering in a circle and holding hands. Carol Ann got that going. Everyone was offered the opportunity to speak a word that would best describe how they felt about being at the camp. We heard, “Hopeful, nervous, inspired, grateful, appreciative, thankful,” and many others. It was a great way to kick off the healing.
Some campers headed to processing groups, others went to their rooms and cabins. Parents hugged and kissed kids goodnight. I headed to my cabin. Cabin #3, a large, high ceilinged, open room with seven twin beds and a good sized bathroom. As I walked in, I noticed I was the last to arrive.
When you’re the last to arrive, you get the bed that no one else wants. There was no negotiating. No, “I’m one of the cabin leaders, I want your bed.” Nope, I got what I got. My bed was right by the door which turned out to be a perfect spot in case one of our teenage boys decided a midnight adventure was calling them.
As Rick, the other adult in our cabin, I and our five teenage boys settled in, there was idle chatter and shuffling about as we got organized. Some boys put their clothes in the dressers provided; others left everything in their suitcases or bags. I was relieved I wasn’t going to have to tell them to keep things neat and organized. I was a guide, not a parent for the weekend. As I stretched out on my bed, I noticed a few of the boys pulled out their cell phones and started texting or accessing the internet. Others sat in silence, waiting for something to happen. Rick suggested we go around the room and introduce ourselves, telling as much of our story as we liked. No pressure, no expectations. The weekend was for them to do what was best for them without us pushing them in any direction.
Everyone shared openly. I learned about sisters, moms and dads who had died and left behind a brother and sons. The talk was soft and reflective. Grief and sadness filled the room and that was good. Part of the journey. Who would have thought that at such a young age, those boys would have to recount stories of the death of someone so very important in their lives. They did it well. They all seemed older than their years. I felt sad for them, but grateful for their presence. Even though confused and hurting, they were forging ahead. I was inspired.
To change the pace, I asked each boy to tell a funny story about their loved one. Some could bring their stories back quickly. Others with more difficulty and one boy not at all. We also talked about sports, summer activities and interests. Turns out one boy was a dancer in a troupe with a manager who booked them for shows. We encouraged him to dance. With confidence he hopped from his bed and started doing what he did so well. It was very impressive. He delighted in entertaining. We applauded. Those were the kinds of things that began to bond our group, give it an identity.
Elise popped in. “Anybody want a snack or an apple?” That was nice and appreciated. Snacks and apples were passed around. I reintroduced
Elise to the boys, letting them know she was the leader of the team that was instrumental in what was going to happen this weekend. They all just stared at her, not really knowing what to say. She left with a smile.
By 10:30 p.m. no one was tired. Rick suggested we head to the basketball court which was right behind our cabin. That was perfect. Even though it was dark and not everyone played, we all piled out of the cabin. A game ensued with very careful passing because of the darkness. They were having fun. Those who didn’t play talked on the sidelines. Relationships were forming. Bonds of trust begun.
In a while we headed back in and went to bed. Some fell asleep quickly, others stayed up and on their cells. All were respectful. We’d formulated a plan before going to bed that I and two others would get up at 6:30 a.m. to play more basketball. Turns out the clock in the room was way off, so we never made it to the court. The extra sleep was probably a good thing. Rick, the early riser, roused us all in, we thought, plenty of time to get to where we needed to be. Teaching time management skills to five teens Rick and I had just met was a bit of a challenge, especially in the morning. Everyone woke at a different pace. Some were quick to rise and get ready, others needed time to stretch and shake out the cobwebs. Some beds were made neatly, some not at all. No big deal. With gentle prodding, we headed to our first event.
Gathering in a circle and holding hands on the lawn, Christy started the day on a very positive, welcoming note. The weather was sunny and warm. She then invited everyone to describe one thing at which we’re good. As Elise noted later, when we’re grieving we sometimes don’t think we’re good at anything. Campers offered, “Cooking, listening, writing, laughing, having fun (the kids), praying, exercising” and many more. What was particularly nice about that gathering was all the laughter in the air. It was a great beginning to the day.
Like most large functions, especially on the first morning when many aren’t fully awake, there was some chaos at breakfast. “Where do I sit? Should I sit with someone I don’t know or with my family? Where’s the coffee and juice? What if I don’t like the food? Can I go back for more if I do like it?” Often times, “Oops, excuse me. Sorry, didn’t mean to cut in front of you. Thanks for letting me in line. How are you this morning?” were heard. Our community was coming together as the sharing continued from the night before. By default because it was in their comfort zone, everyone sat with family. Kids stayed
close to parents. Volunteers and staff were scattered throughout the room, gently starting conversations, getting to know the campers and allowing the
campers to know us. There was good energy in the room. Trust was being formed.
After breakfast while others headed to their activities and since I had no assigned responsibilities until 11:00 a.m., I went to set up the volleyball net. It was brand new, still in the box and scared me to death. As I opened the box, all I saw was mass confusion. I’m not good at those kinds of things and my wife, Kathy, always gives me a hard time when I tell her that. “You can figure it out,”she says. She has more confidence in me than me. When I had my photo studio and had to set up big displays to photograph, I delegated. Not this time. I called in reinforcements in the form of Adriana. Surely she can figure it out. Nope, she was as useless as me and readily admitted it. “If my husband was here, he could do this in no time,” she said. So, “Get him up here,” I thought. We called in reinforcements in the form of Ed Hunter. Turns out we were the three stooges. Although he did manage to find a hammer so he got an “Attaboy” for that.
Nurse Jeannine came to the rescue. She did the most logical, practical and sensible thing. She read the directions. Obviously the smartest of the bunch, with her expert guidance we got it up and functional in no time. I think she left saying,“Wow, some lame people here at the camp.” She didn’t verbalize it even though it was true. I then set up a mini soccer field, got out bags for bag toss, pumped up the giant red rubber ball and threw the smiley face ball into the mix. We were ready for some distracting fun.
As I wandered about, helping here and there, I noticed the various age groups getting involved in their activities. Another floater was Mark, the camp
photographer. Like a good photographer should, he was barely noticed as he documented the group during the entire weekend. His extraordinary
talents were displayed during the closing ceremony. Energy levels were high. Everyone was ready to jump right in and get to work. The adult volunteers were amazing. It was inspiring to see the passion with which they worked with the kids. They obviously loved what they were doing. Guiding, teaching, sharing ways to work on grief by expressing it in positive ways.
A few days before the weekend, Elise had e-mailed me with an opportunity to work with two of the young adult men. I was thrilled with the invite and gladly accepted. Later, Christy informed me that both men would be going through a Friday night processing group and another on Saturday just before they came to me. Her wise counsel was to let them do something physical since they’d been doing so much mental work. A great idea. When they came walking out of the building I noticed one young man was tall and slender, the other short and heavy set. I didn’t think basketball a good idea, or one-on-one volleyball so suggested a game of bags. In listening to other campers being asked to make decisions, I often heard, “I don’t care.” With so much being thrown at them and so much to absorb, I think they just had a hard time making decisions. When I got that response to the bags suggestion, I said, “Okay, let’s do bags.” A girlfriend had come along, so we had a foursome. It was boyfriend/girlfriend versus me and tall/slender. Let the bags begin.
Tall/slender and I weren’t as experienced at bags as boyfriend/girlfriend, but I got hot. At various points during the game, boyfriend chided girlfriend and girlfriend chided boyfriend about picking up their game. The score became very lopsided in our favor. To have a little fun with them, I would ask for the score to be repeated a number of times. Boyfriend thought it was funny the first time, but that was the only time. His competitiveness was bubbling to the surface. We had fun, there was laughter and they were distracted.
With time left before lunch, we got a volleyball game going. We started with a few and ended with many. All it took was, “Come on over,”and the court filled. There were six players per side. Some were athletic and some weren’t, but what we all had in common was having fun. It was chaotic, loud and enthusiastic. The kids were running this way and that, smacking the volleyball in the right direction sometimes, in the wrong direction other times, but it didn’t really matter. They were running, diving and breathing hard. Thankfully no one got hurt. Their hearts and souls were away from grief (at least that’s what they thought) and into competition. It was good.
Before heading to lunch we gathered for a water ritual. Elise led the activity. She spoke about water coming from the earth, being a vessel for cleansing and representative of the cycle of life. The water was in a beautiful metal bowl on a stand. She offered the opportunity for further grief work.
For those who wanted to participate, they could take a small strip of paper, write their loved one’s name, or relationship, on the paper and place it
in the bowl. It looked like everyone saw the benefit in the activity and got involved. A crowd gathered as hands gently slid their paper into the water. Elise explained how over the next few hours, the ink would dissolve into the water and loved ones would become their own community within the water. Later, the water would be returned to the earth and the symbolic cycle of life completed. It was another very good activity. Once completed, we headed for lunch.
The afternoon consisted of multiple activities for the various age groups. It was a beautiful afternoon and energy filled the camp. In the pavilion, Carolina began the process of creating the memory stones. Small bags of powdered cement were mixed with water and poured into a mold of a small box lined with aluminum foil. I was in charge of filling the five gallon bucket with water. Funny how the older I get, the heavier water gets. Don’t know why that is. As the cement began to set up, family members placed momentos into the mix which eventually dried into a permanent reminder of the life of their loved one. It was nice to see families gather, tell stories, share some laughter and some tears while doing their work.
In another part of the pavilion, Joanne, Joan and Marissa began to create the hands banner. Each camper, staff member and volunteer had one hand painted with tempura paint in the same color as their shirt. They then pressed their hand onto the banner. Marissa ran the washing station and I provided the clean water. It was inspiring to see the banner fill with the hand prints, creating a representation of our community. It became a rainbow of
hands of hope.
Next was swimming. As you can imagine, on a hot and sunny day it was a popular activity. In the main building about ½ mile away there was an indoor pool. A convoy of vehicles shuttled the swimmers to the pool. Rick used his truck and I rode shotgun. We hung at the pool for quite a while as parents and kids splashed and played. The lifeguard only blew his whistle a couple of times. Couldn’t tell if it was for an over exuberant adult or child. Everyone was having fun. Once again, that activity was a good balance between the emotional side of grief work and the “getting away” side of grief work. Both have great value. As pool time wound down, some rode back in cars and others walked back to the camp. All were smiling. Dinner was the next thing on the list.
After dinner, I ended up at the Game of Grief, run by Barb. Kids and a few adults filled a room in the lower level of the lodge. Barb had each child count off from 1-4 and then split them into groups to start the games. By that time of day, the adults were exhausted but the kids were still jazzed. Barb had the kids answering science questions, doing charades, singing, trying to get Hoola Hoops to stay up, competing in a bubble gum bubble blowing contest and a marshmallow toss game. For that, one member of a team of two was the tosser and one was the catcher. Even though it was at times a challenge for Barb to maintain order, she did a terrific job. No one was grounded or had to have a time out. It was a blast, we all had fun. Ever present Mark cruised the room, shooting away.
Following the games, all campers gathered in the chapel to listen to a storyteller. In my opinion she was just so-so in her first few stories. The one that got the campers going was when she had kids come up to assist. Volunteers were plentiful and it turned out to be a good story with lots of laughter from the crowd.
After the storyteller, we headed back to our cabins and rooms. Some campers were to write a letter of any length and of any content to their loved one that was to be dropped into the fire in the morning. In our cabin, a few sat on their beds, deep in thought as they spoke to their loved one through pen and paper. Joanne and Rick prepared the paper lanterns for our next activity. Similar to a balloon launch, each lantern had a flammable paraffin substance attached to the wire base. Once lit, the translucent lantern filled with hot air and glowed. When it was full, it would be released and ascend gently into the sky.
Once outside, the kids got excited and began to group too closely together. The flames inside the lantern could easily have jumped to a piece of clothing. Christy came up to me, concerned for the safety of the kids. “Rob, do you think we should call this off. I’m kind of worried,” she said. She looked worried. I told the kids who had not yet started to stay back on the basketball court and not come forward until called. Those who were lighting their lanterns were directed to a safe, open area, well away from the basketball court. We spread them out and worked with three at a time. It was very successful and very cool. We launched a good number of lanterns. I’m guessing over twenty. The sky was cloudless as the firefly like lanterns slowly drifted upward like a beacon calling to their loved ones. “You light up my life. You are bright within my heart.” I may have been the only one thinking that as the kids simply enjoyed being part of the launch.
While others disappeared back to their rooms, our group stayed on the court for more basketball. Rick had brought out a small, but powerful, LED flashlight. Rick and I sat on the sidelines while he illuminated the rim and net for the kids. Once again, they had a blast. Those who didn’t play walked around the court or sat and talked. We had a really great group of young men. Half an hour later we headed back in and went to bed. During the night, thunder resounded throughout the cabin. Heavy rain began to pour. When we got up Rick wondered if anyone had brought in the hands banner. If
not, it would have been ruined. Turns out a very smart person had grabbed it before the storm hit and it was safe.
Our first activity on Sunday morning was reflection, led by Ed Hunter. He spoke eloquently of the power each of us has to forge through these
tough times. That even though grieving is hard work, when done, good things can happen. With the help of their newly formed community and new friends, and their involvement in the wonderful activities and workshops, they’d been loaded up with possibilities for healing and moving forward in their journey. Yes, there will still be hard times ahead, but now they had tools to help them build a new life. The black umbrella on the memory table had been replaced with a rainbow umbrella, symbolizing a new sense of hope. Bright and colorful, its message was clear. Let the beauty of your loved ones life live in your life forever. Ed’s talk moved us all.
There was still a light rain as we moved from the chapel outside to the fire for the letter burning ceremony. Elise led the group. After a few words,
everyone was invited to place their letter in the flames. Fire consumed those written words as we stood in silence. Elise mentioned that the water used in the water ceremony had already been returned to the earth as she poured other water on the flames, extinguishing the fire. It was a moving and powerful ceremony. We headed in for our last breakfast.
Following breakfast there was one last group time for campers to discuss what the weekend meant to them and fill out evaluations. Once that ended it was time to pack up and get ready for the closing ceremony. I’d packed before Ed’s presentation so hung around the front of the lodge to see if I could help. Three kids and their adult volunteers came up. I grabbed a soccer ball. That’s all it took. The kids and I kicked the ball around, sometimes to each other, sometimes into the bushes, sometimes straight up into the air. It was good fun. Once they bored of that, we found some centipedes to play with. One little girl asked if it would bite as she cautiously held out her hand. I said, “No, it won’t bite you.” I put the centipede in her palm and congratulated her on overcoming her fear. She smiled, kind of. Soon it was time for the closing ceremony.
We all gathered in the lower level of the lodge. There was lots of activity as the various groups formed. Each was to present a skit based on their experience over the weekend. The group was decidedly more relaxed and comfortable since the opening ceremony. Lots had been shared. Relationships had been formed. Trust had been created. Our leader, Elise, presided. Congratulating the campers for their courage, she thanked them for
letting us be a part of their journey. Thanked them for sharing the life of their loved one with us all. Mark, the photographer, was poised and ready to entertain us with his photos. A few announcements later and the skits began.
Based on how well they were done, I never would have believed the groups were only able to dedicate a few hours to their preparation. All were excellent! Each held a message, each told a story about grieving, healing, love and hope. There was thunderous laughter and resounding applause. The shy became bold while some remained shy. Dancers danced, actors acted, adults behaved like kids and kids like adults with the audience being the benefactor of their enthusiasm and creativity. It was a wonderful topping to a wonderful weekend. At the conclusion of the skits, the lights dimmed and Mark fired up his laptop. He’d created a truly magnificent visual documentation of our weekend that was projected on the wall. The images were paired with poignant and meaningful music. There were tears as well as laughter as image after image brought great feelings to us all. Mark got much deserved applause.
The final activity together was to gather in our last circle. We rimmed the entire room holding hands. Once the circle was complete, Carol Ann asked us to share what we would take away from the weekend. We heard, “Hope filled, encouraged, happy, understood, appreciated and listened to.” I saw happier faces then I saw on the first night. I saw grievers who had tools to move forward in their grief journey. I saw power and empowerment. When we finished with our take away words, Carol Ann encouraged everyone to hug and thank all those who created meaning over the weekend. We all embraced, we all thanked.
We then shared our final meal together. I saw genuine smiles and heard genuine laughter. There would certainly be rough waters ahead, but the seeds of healing had been planted. It was now up to them to water those seeds with their grief work. We all felt confident and hopeful for their future.
The bus was loaded with our luggage and we climbed on board. The trip home was delightfully uneventful. As we got off, I was thankful for this wonderful experience. I hope the campers were as proud of themselves as the volunteers and staff at FVVH were of them. Each camper had courageously jumped into the deep end of the pool of their grief and had managed to swim. They were on their way to a happier life if they so chose. Their efforts further reminded me of the spirit of the healing heart to overcome just about any challenge. Passion and enthusiasm rule the world. When the passion to overcome obstacles is combined with the enthusiasm for a better day, there’s nothing that can’t be accomplished. Happy is a state of mind.
If we look for the good in life, we will find it. When we find it, it’s our responsibility as human beings to spread that happiness as far and as wide as we can in an effort to make a positive difference in another’s life.
The following poem personifies the power of the healing heart to transition from devastation to ultimate victory following the death of a loved
one.
I Will Be
If you think of me as gone forever,
I will be.
If you think of me as sadness and tears,
I will be.
If you think of me as your broken heart,
I will be.
That’s not who I want to be, but I will be.
If you think of me as memories to cherish,
I will be.
If you think of me as laughter and joy,
I will be.
If you think of me as your healing heart,
I will be.
That’s who I want to be, please let me be.
Note of explanation. FVVH is the Fox Valley Volunteer Hospice in Geneva, IL. GTAH is Grief Takes A Hike, a weekend healing excursion for kids 5 to 21 years old and their parents, who’ve had a significant death loss. We’re bussed to a campground outside Lake Geneva, WI. This was from the 2011 trip, my first.
Arriving at FVVH on Friday afternoon, I was nervous. This was my first time at GTAH and I didn’t know what to expect. At the final planning event, the veterans of GTAH said it was a wonderful experience, not to be missed. I was excited and ready to go, but wasn’t sure where I was going from an emotional perspective. I’d read the family stories of loss, confusion, anger and pain and figured they would probably be nervous as well. Some saying, “I can’t wait for the camp to start.” Others saying, “I can’t wait for the camp to end.” At the staff meeting a few weeks prior, I’d asked if I could ride the bus. I wanted to jump right in and meet the campers right away. The team leader, Christy, said that would be fine. Even though I was going to be a floater for the most part, I wanted to see faces, interact with the families and figure out how I could help. Creating trust is the most important part of our giving. Trust creates sharing which creates healing.
A neatly organized table greeted campers at FVVH for signing in, filling out forms and asking questions. The staff was friendly and welcoming. Legos, crayons and colored paper filled another table. That was a great idea. The sense I felt in the room from the adults and teens who filtered in was one of nervousness and apprehension. There was lots to absorb, lots to figure out, lots to wonder about. Families stayed in their comfort zones, huddled together. The sense I got from the little kids was excitement. This was more of an adventure for them. Two were working on Legos so I sat down and started working on Legos too. One was building a space ship, the other a battle ship. An age appropriate mess covered the table. Lots of chatter,
clutter and enthusiasm. What’s so terrific about little kids is they’ll play with anybody. There’s no judgment or cautiousness, just,“Hey, you wanna play?”
I was told I was going to be in charge of Saturday afternoon lawn games. “Sounds perfect,” I said. Merit, the team leader for the kids, showed me the things I was going to need. I took the bag outside and set it on on the sidewalk to put on the bus. I noticed one of the teens sitting on the stairs by himself. “Hey, you want to play some soccer,” I called out. “No,” was his answer. That was fine, he’s allowed his space. In an attempt to draw him out little, I asked if he’d please hold the soccer ball while I filled it with air. He came over. He held, I pumped. I asked if he thought there was enough air. He gave his okay and sat back on the stairs.
“I’m going to take the ball over to the field and see if I can find anyone to play. Come on over if you feel like it,” I said. “Okay, thanks,” he said, but didn’t move.
More kids started arriving. I invited them all. None accepted. No one wanted to stand out and be noticed. I told them where I’d be if they wanted to play. I could tell they were nervous, not knowing me, not knowing exactly what was going on. Finally I got a “Yes” from two. I got their names, gave them mine. We headed to the field and started kicking the ball around. Within five minutes, the other kids I’d invited started showing up and standing on the sidelines, not sure if they should come out or not. I asked their names and introduced everybody around. “Come on. Let’s get a game going,” I called out. Two kids took off their shoes to outline the goals. Two other kids volunteered to be captains and before I knew it, we had eight kids running up and down the field, laughing and having fun. It was terrific. I told them I was one of the permanent goalies. “Don’t run like I used to,” I said. No one protested. It was just that easy to get a game going. Kids might not want to talk about stuff, especially to an adult they don’t trust yet, but ask them to get involved in something physical and it can usually happen. Thirtyminutes later and with a lot of hard breathing, sweating and luckily no injuries, I stopped the game for a break and we headed inside.
In the lobby I started talking with a wife/mom/grandmother whose husband had died within the past four months. That dreaded and hateful disease of cancer took his body. She was very sad for herself, her daughter and step granddaughter. She was mad too. It just wasn’t fair. He was a good guy; Chicago cop. Good husband and dad too. The tough journey had begun. How brave of her and the kids (perhaps reluctantly) to get involved with their grief and take on the challenge of working towards a better tomorrow.
The bus pulled up and luggage began to fill the sidewalk. As we loaded I thought about my role and what my goals should be for the camp. I decided that since my assignment was the sporting events, my goal was one of distraction. They were going to get a lot of “head and heart” work during their groups. Those would be difficult, draining and perhaps very confusing. Grief work is hard work. I wanted to take them from work to play. I wanted to do what I could to create smiles, laughter and a physical outlet for their grief. Even though on a conscious level, they wouldn’t know what I was doing, I was hopeful there would be benefit.
Before getting on the bus, Merit formed a circle on the lawn. We all held hands. Funny thing about holding hands for the first time. Some squeezed, some barely touched, most were nervous. That changed by the closing ceremony. In hindsight, I would call it our Circle of Hope. Holding hands, touching shoulders, idle chatter was the start of creating a community of broken/healing hearts with one common goal. Our search for hope. Our search for an understanding of grief. Merit spoke wonderful words of encouragement and offered her best wishes.
As we boarded the bus, we were each handed a bagged lunch and a bottle of water. Whoever made those lunches did an outstanding job. Everyone was very appreciative. The volunteers and staff did a wonderful job during registration. They were comforting, informative and answered all questions as they wished us well and sent us on our way.
That bus was nice! It was like a luxury airliner on wheels. I felt like a rock star. Jenny, a fellow volunteer, and I sat in the seat behind Howard, our
driver. Our conversation was great. I learned about her and she learned about me. I enjoyed the ride very much. A movie was loaded, we ate our lunches, many napped and the time passed. Good thing no one pulled out a camera because most people aren’t at their viewing best when sleeping.
We arrived at camp to a rousing welcome from the FVVH staff and volunteers, all festooned in their colored shirts, clapping and smiling. Hugs all around. The last passenger off was a little boy who couldn’t unlock the door in the bus bathroom. He was too small to reach the handle. He didn’t seem too upset, but his grandma surely was. The bus driver finally sprang him. It was a gorgeous evening in a beautiful, secluded wooded setting. We headed to the lodge with our luggage. Staff had created unloading areas with family names. Great idea. Luggage was dumped, bathrooms used. Our first destination was the chapel for opening ceremonies.
Elise, our leader for the weekend, warmly greeted us all, letting the campers know how much we admired their courage and thanking them for coming. It can take a great leap of faith to create a new comfort zone like the campers were doing. In essence, what they were saying was, “I feel horrible, but I don’t want to feel horrible forever. I’m frightened, but I don’t want fear to direct my life. I want to try. I want to understand what my pain is and allow it to teach me.” Congratulations to them. The staff of FVVH, those in front of and behind the scenes, along with the volunteers, were to be congratulated as well. We were saying, “We’re honored to partner with you in this part of your journey. We’re here to help. Thanks for letting us be a part of your lives.”
Carol Ann, adult therapist, had set up the memory table. It was beautiful and a perfect setting to start the weekend journey. The black umbrella was a poignant reminder of how dark our lives can become when someone we love dies. The umbrella did not stay black. Hope changed that. After introduction of staff, some moving and powerful songs, Elise invited each family to come to the front of the room, place a photo of their loved one on the table, introduce themselves and just as importantly, introduce their loved one and light a candle of remembrance. Like most grief groups, no one moved. Eyes darted around the room saying, “I don’t want to go first. You go first. I’m nervous and scared.” Eventually a brave soul stood and walked to the front. The
flood gates were opened, others were then eager to follow. We met everyone, the living as well as the dead. We saw sad faces and heard slow, soft voices. Tears were shed. Tears were shared. A hand reached across a shoulder with a gentle rub. There were touches and nods of encouragement. A child buried her face in her mom’s shoulder as she sobbed and sobbed.
The opening ceremony set the tone for the weekend and was compassionately orchestrated. It was a tone of encouragement. The opening ceremony said, “We’re here to help each other. We’re a community of broken and healing hearts on this journey together. Arm in arm, hand in hand, heart to heart we will move forward with hope, compassion and understanding.” It was wonderful. The ceremony concluded by gathering in a circle and holding hands. Carol Ann got that going. Everyone was offered the opportunity to speak a word that would best describe how they felt about being at the camp. We heard, “Hopeful, nervous, inspired, grateful, appreciative, thankful,” and many others. It was a great way to kick off the healing.
Some campers headed to processing groups, others went to their rooms and cabins. Parents hugged and kissed kids goodnight. I headed to my cabin. Cabin #3, a large, high ceilinged, open room with seven twin beds and a good sized bathroom. As I walked in, I noticed I was the last to arrive.
When you’re the last to arrive, you get the bed that no one else wants. There was no negotiating. No, “I’m one of the cabin leaders, I want your bed.” Nope, I got what I got. My bed was right by the door which turned out to be a perfect spot in case one of our teenage boys decided a midnight adventure was calling them.
As Rick, the other adult in our cabin, I and our five teenage boys settled in, there was idle chatter and shuffling about as we got organized. Some boys put their clothes in the dressers provided; others left everything in their suitcases or bags. I was relieved I wasn’t going to have to tell them to keep things neat and organized. I was a guide, not a parent for the weekend. As I stretched out on my bed, I noticed a few of the boys pulled out their cell phones and started texting or accessing the internet. Others sat in silence, waiting for something to happen. Rick suggested we go around the room and introduce ourselves, telling as much of our story as we liked. No pressure, no expectations. The weekend was for them to do what was best for them without us pushing them in any direction.
Everyone shared openly. I learned about sisters, moms and dads who had died and left behind a brother and sons. The talk was soft and reflective. Grief and sadness filled the room and that was good. Part of the journey. Who would have thought that at such a young age, those boys would have to recount stories of the death of someone so very important in their lives. They did it well. They all seemed older than their years. I felt sad for them, but grateful for their presence. Even though confused and hurting, they were forging ahead. I was inspired.
To change the pace, I asked each boy to tell a funny story about their loved one. Some could bring their stories back quickly. Others with more difficulty and one boy not at all. We also talked about sports, summer activities and interests. Turns out one boy was a dancer in a troupe with a manager who booked them for shows. We encouraged him to dance. With confidence he hopped from his bed and started doing what he did so well. It was very impressive. He delighted in entertaining. We applauded. Those were the kinds of things that began to bond our group, give it an identity.
Elise popped in. “Anybody want a snack or an apple?” That was nice and appreciated. Snacks and apples were passed around. I reintroduced
Elise to the boys, letting them know she was the leader of the team that was instrumental in what was going to happen this weekend. They all just stared at her, not really knowing what to say. She left with a smile.
By 10:30 p.m. no one was tired. Rick suggested we head to the basketball court which was right behind our cabin. That was perfect. Even though it was dark and not everyone played, we all piled out of the cabin. A game ensued with very careful passing because of the darkness. They were having fun. Those who didn’t play talked on the sidelines. Relationships were forming. Bonds of trust begun.
In a while we headed back in and went to bed. Some fell asleep quickly, others stayed up and on their cells. All were respectful. We’d formulated a plan before going to bed that I and two others would get up at 6:30 a.m. to play more basketball. Turns out the clock in the room was way off, so we never made it to the court. The extra sleep was probably a good thing. Rick, the early riser, roused us all in, we thought, plenty of time to get to where we needed to be. Teaching time management skills to five teens Rick and I had just met was a bit of a challenge, especially in the morning. Everyone woke at a different pace. Some were quick to rise and get ready, others needed time to stretch and shake out the cobwebs. Some beds were made neatly, some not at all. No big deal. With gentle prodding, we headed to our first event.
Gathering in a circle and holding hands on the lawn, Christy started the day on a very positive, welcoming note. The weather was sunny and warm. She then invited everyone to describe one thing at which we’re good. As Elise noted later, when we’re grieving we sometimes don’t think we’re good at anything. Campers offered, “Cooking, listening, writing, laughing, having fun (the kids), praying, exercising” and many more. What was particularly nice about that gathering was all the laughter in the air. It was a great beginning to the day.
Like most large functions, especially on the first morning when many aren’t fully awake, there was some chaos at breakfast. “Where do I sit? Should I sit with someone I don’t know or with my family? Where’s the coffee and juice? What if I don’t like the food? Can I go back for more if I do like it?” Often times, “Oops, excuse me. Sorry, didn’t mean to cut in front of you. Thanks for letting me in line. How are you this morning?” were heard. Our community was coming together as the sharing continued from the night before. By default because it was in their comfort zone, everyone sat with family. Kids stayed
close to parents. Volunteers and staff were scattered throughout the room, gently starting conversations, getting to know the campers and allowing the
campers to know us. There was good energy in the room. Trust was being formed.
After breakfast while others headed to their activities and since I had no assigned responsibilities until 11:00 a.m., I went to set up the volleyball net. It was brand new, still in the box and scared me to death. As I opened the box, all I saw was mass confusion. I’m not good at those kinds of things and my wife, Kathy, always gives me a hard time when I tell her that. “You can figure it out,”she says. She has more confidence in me than me. When I had my photo studio and had to set up big displays to photograph, I delegated. Not this time. I called in reinforcements in the form of Adriana. Surely she can figure it out. Nope, she was as useless as me and readily admitted it. “If my husband was here, he could do this in no time,” she said. So, “Get him up here,” I thought. We called in reinforcements in the form of Ed Hunter. Turns out we were the three stooges. Although he did manage to find a hammer so he got an “Attaboy” for that.
Nurse Jeannine came to the rescue. She did the most logical, practical and sensible thing. She read the directions. Obviously the smartest of the bunch, with her expert guidance we got it up and functional in no time. I think she left saying,“Wow, some lame people here at the camp.” She didn’t verbalize it even though it was true. I then set up a mini soccer field, got out bags for bag toss, pumped up the giant red rubber ball and threw the smiley face ball into the mix. We were ready for some distracting fun.
As I wandered about, helping here and there, I noticed the various age groups getting involved in their activities. Another floater was Mark, the camp
photographer. Like a good photographer should, he was barely noticed as he documented the group during the entire weekend. His extraordinary
talents were displayed during the closing ceremony. Energy levels were high. Everyone was ready to jump right in and get to work. The adult volunteers were amazing. It was inspiring to see the passion with which they worked with the kids. They obviously loved what they were doing. Guiding, teaching, sharing ways to work on grief by expressing it in positive ways.
A few days before the weekend, Elise had e-mailed me with an opportunity to work with two of the young adult men. I was thrilled with the invite and gladly accepted. Later, Christy informed me that both men would be going through a Friday night processing group and another on Saturday just before they came to me. Her wise counsel was to let them do something physical since they’d been doing so much mental work. A great idea. When they came walking out of the building I noticed one young man was tall and slender, the other short and heavy set. I didn’t think basketball a good idea, or one-on-one volleyball so suggested a game of bags. In listening to other campers being asked to make decisions, I often heard, “I don’t care.” With so much being thrown at them and so much to absorb, I think they just had a hard time making decisions. When I got that response to the bags suggestion, I said, “Okay, let’s do bags.” A girlfriend had come along, so we had a foursome. It was boyfriend/girlfriend versus me and tall/slender. Let the bags begin.
Tall/slender and I weren’t as experienced at bags as boyfriend/girlfriend, but I got hot. At various points during the game, boyfriend chided girlfriend and girlfriend chided boyfriend about picking up their game. The score became very lopsided in our favor. To have a little fun with them, I would ask for the score to be repeated a number of times. Boyfriend thought it was funny the first time, but that was the only time. His competitiveness was bubbling to the surface. We had fun, there was laughter and they were distracted.
With time left before lunch, we got a volleyball game going. We started with a few and ended with many. All it took was, “Come on over,”and the court filled. There were six players per side. Some were athletic and some weren’t, but what we all had in common was having fun. It was chaotic, loud and enthusiastic. The kids were running this way and that, smacking the volleyball in the right direction sometimes, in the wrong direction other times, but it didn’t really matter. They were running, diving and breathing hard. Thankfully no one got hurt. Their hearts and souls were away from grief (at least that’s what they thought) and into competition. It was good.
Before heading to lunch we gathered for a water ritual. Elise led the activity. She spoke about water coming from the earth, being a vessel for cleansing and representative of the cycle of life. The water was in a beautiful metal bowl on a stand. She offered the opportunity for further grief work.
For those who wanted to participate, they could take a small strip of paper, write their loved one’s name, or relationship, on the paper and place it
in the bowl. It looked like everyone saw the benefit in the activity and got involved. A crowd gathered as hands gently slid their paper into the water. Elise explained how over the next few hours, the ink would dissolve into the water and loved ones would become their own community within the water. Later, the water would be returned to the earth and the symbolic cycle of life completed. It was another very good activity. Once completed, we headed for lunch.
The afternoon consisted of multiple activities for the various age groups. It was a beautiful afternoon and energy filled the camp. In the pavilion, Carolina began the process of creating the memory stones. Small bags of powdered cement were mixed with water and poured into a mold of a small box lined with aluminum foil. I was in charge of filling the five gallon bucket with water. Funny how the older I get, the heavier water gets. Don’t know why that is. As the cement began to set up, family members placed momentos into the mix which eventually dried into a permanent reminder of the life of their loved one. It was nice to see families gather, tell stories, share some laughter and some tears while doing their work.
In another part of the pavilion, Joanne, Joan and Marissa began to create the hands banner. Each camper, staff member and volunteer had one hand painted with tempura paint in the same color as their shirt. They then pressed their hand onto the banner. Marissa ran the washing station and I provided the clean water. It was inspiring to see the banner fill with the hand prints, creating a representation of our community. It became a rainbow of
hands of hope.
Next was swimming. As you can imagine, on a hot and sunny day it was a popular activity. In the main building about ½ mile away there was an indoor pool. A convoy of vehicles shuttled the swimmers to the pool. Rick used his truck and I rode shotgun. We hung at the pool for quite a while as parents and kids splashed and played. The lifeguard only blew his whistle a couple of times. Couldn’t tell if it was for an over exuberant adult or child. Everyone was having fun. Once again, that activity was a good balance between the emotional side of grief work and the “getting away” side of grief work. Both have great value. As pool time wound down, some rode back in cars and others walked back to the camp. All were smiling. Dinner was the next thing on the list.
After dinner, I ended up at the Game of Grief, run by Barb. Kids and a few adults filled a room in the lower level of the lodge. Barb had each child count off from 1-4 and then split them into groups to start the games. By that time of day, the adults were exhausted but the kids were still jazzed. Barb had the kids answering science questions, doing charades, singing, trying to get Hoola Hoops to stay up, competing in a bubble gum bubble blowing contest and a marshmallow toss game. For that, one member of a team of two was the tosser and one was the catcher. Even though it was at times a challenge for Barb to maintain order, she did a terrific job. No one was grounded or had to have a time out. It was a blast, we all had fun. Ever present Mark cruised the room, shooting away.
Following the games, all campers gathered in the chapel to listen to a storyteller. In my opinion she was just so-so in her first few stories. The one that got the campers going was when she had kids come up to assist. Volunteers were plentiful and it turned out to be a good story with lots of laughter from the crowd.
After the storyteller, we headed back to our cabins and rooms. Some campers were to write a letter of any length and of any content to their loved one that was to be dropped into the fire in the morning. In our cabin, a few sat on their beds, deep in thought as they spoke to their loved one through pen and paper. Joanne and Rick prepared the paper lanterns for our next activity. Similar to a balloon launch, each lantern had a flammable paraffin substance attached to the wire base. Once lit, the translucent lantern filled with hot air and glowed. When it was full, it would be released and ascend gently into the sky.
Once outside, the kids got excited and began to group too closely together. The flames inside the lantern could easily have jumped to a piece of clothing. Christy came up to me, concerned for the safety of the kids. “Rob, do you think we should call this off. I’m kind of worried,” she said. She looked worried. I told the kids who had not yet started to stay back on the basketball court and not come forward until called. Those who were lighting their lanterns were directed to a safe, open area, well away from the basketball court. We spread them out and worked with three at a time. It was very successful and very cool. We launched a good number of lanterns. I’m guessing over twenty. The sky was cloudless as the firefly like lanterns slowly drifted upward like a beacon calling to their loved ones. “You light up my life. You are bright within my heart.” I may have been the only one thinking that as the kids simply enjoyed being part of the launch.
While others disappeared back to their rooms, our group stayed on the court for more basketball. Rick had brought out a small, but powerful, LED flashlight. Rick and I sat on the sidelines while he illuminated the rim and net for the kids. Once again, they had a blast. Those who didn’t play walked around the court or sat and talked. We had a really great group of young men. Half an hour later we headed back in and went to bed. During the night, thunder resounded throughout the cabin. Heavy rain began to pour. When we got up Rick wondered if anyone had brought in the hands banner. If
not, it would have been ruined. Turns out a very smart person had grabbed it before the storm hit and it was safe.
Our first activity on Sunday morning was reflection, led by Ed Hunter. He spoke eloquently of the power each of us has to forge through these
tough times. That even though grieving is hard work, when done, good things can happen. With the help of their newly formed community and new friends, and their involvement in the wonderful activities and workshops, they’d been loaded up with possibilities for healing and moving forward in their journey. Yes, there will still be hard times ahead, but now they had tools to help them build a new life. The black umbrella on the memory table had been replaced with a rainbow umbrella, symbolizing a new sense of hope. Bright and colorful, its message was clear. Let the beauty of your loved ones life live in your life forever. Ed’s talk moved us all.
There was still a light rain as we moved from the chapel outside to the fire for the letter burning ceremony. Elise led the group. After a few words,
everyone was invited to place their letter in the flames. Fire consumed those written words as we stood in silence. Elise mentioned that the water used in the water ceremony had already been returned to the earth as she poured other water on the flames, extinguishing the fire. It was a moving and powerful ceremony. We headed in for our last breakfast.
Following breakfast there was one last group time for campers to discuss what the weekend meant to them and fill out evaluations. Once that ended it was time to pack up and get ready for the closing ceremony. I’d packed before Ed’s presentation so hung around the front of the lodge to see if I could help. Three kids and their adult volunteers came up. I grabbed a soccer ball. That’s all it took. The kids and I kicked the ball around, sometimes to each other, sometimes into the bushes, sometimes straight up into the air. It was good fun. Once they bored of that, we found some centipedes to play with. One little girl asked if it would bite as she cautiously held out her hand. I said, “No, it won’t bite you.” I put the centipede in her palm and congratulated her on overcoming her fear. She smiled, kind of. Soon it was time for the closing ceremony.
We all gathered in the lower level of the lodge. There was lots of activity as the various groups formed. Each was to present a skit based on their experience over the weekend. The group was decidedly more relaxed and comfortable since the opening ceremony. Lots had been shared. Relationships had been formed. Trust had been created. Our leader, Elise, presided. Congratulating the campers for their courage, she thanked them for
letting us be a part of their journey. Thanked them for sharing the life of their loved one with us all. Mark, the photographer, was poised and ready to entertain us with his photos. A few announcements later and the skits began.
Based on how well they were done, I never would have believed the groups were only able to dedicate a few hours to their preparation. All were excellent! Each held a message, each told a story about grieving, healing, love and hope. There was thunderous laughter and resounding applause. The shy became bold while some remained shy. Dancers danced, actors acted, adults behaved like kids and kids like adults with the audience being the benefactor of their enthusiasm and creativity. It was a wonderful topping to a wonderful weekend. At the conclusion of the skits, the lights dimmed and Mark fired up his laptop. He’d created a truly magnificent visual documentation of our weekend that was projected on the wall. The images were paired with poignant and meaningful music. There were tears as well as laughter as image after image brought great feelings to us all. Mark got much deserved applause.
The final activity together was to gather in our last circle. We rimmed the entire room holding hands. Once the circle was complete, Carol Ann asked us to share what we would take away from the weekend. We heard, “Hope filled, encouraged, happy, understood, appreciated and listened to.” I saw happier faces then I saw on the first night. I saw grievers who had tools to move forward in their grief journey. I saw power and empowerment. When we finished with our take away words, Carol Ann encouraged everyone to hug and thank all those who created meaning over the weekend. We all embraced, we all thanked.
We then shared our final meal together. I saw genuine smiles and heard genuine laughter. There would certainly be rough waters ahead, but the seeds of healing had been planted. It was now up to them to water those seeds with their grief work. We all felt confident and hopeful for their future.
The bus was loaded with our luggage and we climbed on board. The trip home was delightfully uneventful. As we got off, I was thankful for this wonderful experience. I hope the campers were as proud of themselves as the volunteers and staff at FVVH were of them. Each camper had courageously jumped into the deep end of the pool of their grief and had managed to swim. They were on their way to a happier life if they so chose. Their efforts further reminded me of the spirit of the healing heart to overcome just about any challenge. Passion and enthusiasm rule the world. When the passion to overcome obstacles is combined with the enthusiasm for a better day, there’s nothing that can’t be accomplished. Happy is a state of mind.
If we look for the good in life, we will find it. When we find it, it’s our responsibility as human beings to spread that happiness as far and as wide as we can in an effort to make a positive difference in another’s life.
The following poem personifies the power of the healing heart to transition from devastation to ultimate victory following the death of a loved
one.
I Will Be
If you think of me as gone forever,
I will be.
If you think of me as sadness and tears,
I will be.
If you think of me as your broken heart,
I will be.
That’s not who I want to be, but I will be.
If you think of me as memories to cherish,
I will be.
If you think of me as laughter and joy,
I will be.
If you think of me as your healing heart,
I will be.
That’s who I want to be, please let me be.