Letter for a Friend

April 26, 2011

Dear Tatum, Emma and Ericka,

You don't know me, but I am a second-year graduate student in the CDS program. Your mother has been a wonderful professor, supervisor, and mentor to me. I think very highly of her, and feel as though I know some about each of you because she speaks so lovingly of her daughters. I am so terribly sorry to hear about your family tragedy. I can't imagine how you must be feeling at this time.

This letter might not mean anything to you right now, but maybe in time my words can offer even a grain of comfort. You are likely in the throes of shock, confusion, anger, and denial. I am hoping you have many loved ones surrounding you and supporting you at this time. And moreover, I hope that you continue to have your close family and dear friends nearby as time goes on.

Although I cannot even begin to compare my loss to yours, a part of me can imagine what all three of you must be going through. It will be 10 years this July since my mom dies. I was 19 the summer she died from breast cancer. I made a rash decision to move from Portland to the East Coast the summer after my freshman year of college. I was living near my brother, waitressing on a resort island, and partying the nights awat. I got a call from my dad telling me they were not going to be able to visit the following week as planned, and he asked my brother and me to rush back to Oregon to say our goodbyes. The time had come much, much sooner than we had planned. My mom was in a coma when we arrived home, and she passed away about two hours after our family gathered around her.

My journey through grief and sorrow has been a long one. You will find that everyone has opinions and advice on what you should or should not be doing, feelings, saying, experiencing. And I guess I'm not different, as here I am writing to you. Some people may say that you'll never "get over it," and others will tell you that all will be fine "in time." I find both of these sentiments to be partly true and partly false. When I heard the news that your father had unexpectedly died, I couldn't help but immediately think about your three girls, and the road that lay in front of you. If I had it to do all over again, I would have done it much differently. I made the process particularly hard on myself by trying to avoid and deny the sorrow that threatened to engulf me. I was so fearful of the unfamiliar and overwhelming feelings of anger, depression, and sadness, that I did everything in my power to ignore them. Instead, I threw myself into pretending everything was a-okay. This fueled sorrow's fire. Everyone has to forge their own path through the grief process, but I would never recommend this route to anyone. My wish for you is that you listen to your bodies instead of your brains - cry when you feel like crying, sleep when you are tired, exercise when the spirit moves you - and that you find a healthy road out of this darkness that is the loss of a loved one.

I wish I could offer you one single pearl of wisdom and comfort. Unfortunately, no such magic exists. Instead, my advice - take it or leave it, as it best suits your individual needs:
- Cherish the sincere sympathies, and ignore the stupid peaople. Anyone who says "they're in a better place" or "everything will be okay" doesn't know what they are talking about.
- Read. I found solace in researching all about grief and in reading others' experiences with death and dying.
- Write things down. My greatest heartache is that I can't remember much about my mother. Start journaling now. Talk to each other. Record your favorite memories about your dad. His outfits, his mannerisms, the way he smelled, talked, laughed, drove. Ask other people questions about him. Do what you can to preserve those memories. Go through photos, home videos - and write it all down.
- Keep a community of good friends and family just a phone call away. People who love you will always be willing to be there for you. Everyone will offer their support early on - but it's the ones who stick around, after time has passed and the chaos has ebbed, that really count.
- Be patient with yourself. Things will change. It might be hard to concentrate. You might feel like crying all the time. You might not feel anything. You might just be tired. But know that, however slowly, a tincture of time will slowly begin to heal parts of your broken hearts. I can't say you'll never stop mounring the loss of your father, and your family as you knew it - but in time you will find some comfort.
- Most of all, stay close with each other. You girls are so lucky to have one another, and to have an incredible woman like your mother as your matriarch. be especially kind to her. She is having her own unique experience, and meanwhile trying to be strong for each of you. Support each other, cry with each other, laugh with each other. Whatever you do, keep talking about your dad - the good, the bad, and the ugly - it is my belief this is how me keep the memory of people alive.

I am sending a book, Never the Same, about teens and grieving. Some of it might seem basic or juvenile, but I think it offers a lot of wisdom. It is authored by Donna Schurmann, who started the Dougy Center in Portland. I used to volunteer with the Dougy Center as a group facilitator, and then worked with Courageous Kids ins Eugene. I would highly recommend both of these organizations as a wonderful outlet and support for grieving families.

I understand that you don't know me, and that my words might very well mean nothing to you. At least for now. Or maybe you're in a fog of chaos. But please know that this letter comes from my heart. My wish for each of you is that slowly light begins to break through your darkness and that you are able to help each other begin to repair your broken hearts and aching souls.

My sincerest sympathies for your family. My thoughts and prayers will be with you today, and for weeks and months to come.

Warm regards,
Joanna Close