Breaking the Rules of Grief, A Bereaved Mother's Journey

By Shannon Harris

In "Breaking the Rules of Grief, A Bereaved Mother's Journey" Shannon Harris takes you along on her complicated story of a young mother who loses her son to cancer. Through an honest and unfiltered examination of society's stereotypes on bereavement this book offers alternative ideas for fellow bereaved parents to cope with their loss. Detailing the unspoken rules of grief as they pertain to the loss of a child, Harris tackles topics including spirituality, friendships, relationships, work, parenting and healing. "Breaking the Rules of Grief, A Bereaved Mother's Journey" empowers parents to take ownership of their pain and in doing so shines a light on the path to peace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shannon Harris
• Release date: May 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311392220

Shannon Harris

Born near Chicago, IL, Shannon lives, works, and plays in Southern Illinois, along with her three fur kids. Writing hasn’t always come easy to her but she enjoys creating different worlds for her characters to play in. She’s the author of The Oath & Revelations, book one and two, of the Adearian Chronicles, along with two short stories, “Cupcakes, Art Class, and First Dates” included in the anthology, The One: Stories of Falling in Love Forever, and “Asher, an Adearian Short Story,” included in the anthology, Our Stories Continue. In her down time, she enjoys reading, binge watching true crime shows, and spending time with family and friends. An Unexpected Beginning, book one of The DragonWitch Tales is slated for release this summer. She is currently working on book two of The DragonWitch Tales and the final book in the Adearian trilogy.

Book preview

Breaking the Rules of Grief

A bereaved mother’s journey.

Shannon Harris

Copyright Shannon Harris 2014

Smashwords Edition

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to

my three precious sons,

Owen, Anthony and Jackson.

You are my light in the dark.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I have endless gratitude for my small army of supporters here on Earth who were right by my side through the unimaginable tragedy of losing Anthony. I have a newfound love for my hometown of Ceres, California, where I watched people come together to support my family in the most miraculous of ways.

To those bereaved mothers who have gone before me, shining your strength and bravery down from above so that I knew I wasn’t alone. To Nana, Papa and Anthony who speak very clearly to me, guiding me from the other side. I hear you!

For my immediate family, while dysfunctional, we are never truly broken. For my new family including Brandon and all the kids, thank you for loving me when I was unlovable and for the courage to push forward when I didn’t know how.

INTRODUCTION

I should begin by warning you that there will be no substantial evidence supporting the ideas in this book. These are all my conflicted thoughts in black and white, perfectly spaced in Times New Roman size 12. Should my ideas mean something more than that to someone, great. If not, that’s okay too. After reading countless books and articles on grief and bereavement for parents who have lost a child, I think I’ve had enough information. Not that I am an expert by any means, but I have read enough facts, statistics and psychological theories to last me a lifetime. Being the knowledge seeker I am, I sought comfort in pouring myself into books when my five year old son died. Somehow, I was sure that the books would be my teachers and I the student. I was determined not to fail.

Three bookshelves and hundreds of dollars later I was not much better off than I was before. I have always had a passion for reading and with my newfound quest to master bereavement. I blew through most of those books in a day. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t fully absorb their messages. Perhaps I should have read them more slowly, or likely there is some cosmic reason I didn’t relate to the content or the tone in which they were written, because here we are now.

Nearly four years later and struggling with my grief, I have decided to quit with the information overload and try expressing some of my own ideas instead. What the hell, right? I don’t have any delusions about being someone’s Oprah Winfrey, but maybe if I feel this way about the information out there then other people do as well.

So why now? Nearing the fourth anniversary of Anthony’s death I find myself withdrawing into the deepest depression I have ever known. Desperately trying to figure this out, I sought the help of my primary care physician, a counselor and a psychiatrist. As a result, the dose of my regular anti-depressant was upped, my sleep aid prescription changed, and several counseling appointments were scheduled. None of which seemed to help as of yet. As I write I wonder if growth and change occurs commonly in four year increments. High school, college, presidential elections, and the Olympics are all four year terms. There are four seasons in each year. This is the fourth counselor I’ve seen since Anthony’s death. Hey, maybe four is the charm.

The Winter Olympics are what tipped me off. I have read of the many stages of grief. I know a great deal about post-traumatic stress disorder. I am aware that certain reminders, or triggers, bring on huge emotional and physical reactions, whether I want them to or not. But I was not prepared for the sights and sounds of the Winter Olympics playing in the background of every house and restaurant I’ve been to this February. Anthony died in the living room of my mother’s house four Februarys ago, on the couch. The Winter Olympics were showing on the television 24/7 at the time. In a very morbid way it became the soundtrack to his death. After watching the Jamaican bobsled team at my sister’s house the other night, it suddenly struck me that it has been four years, which seems like an enormous amount of time to miss someone. And if the pain I am feeling after four years is this raw and real, then how am I expected to go a lifetime like this? This is one of the many questions I have for God.

But I hate God today and most days out of the week. I am trying not to but I would be lying if I said I had some deep relationship with Him. Occasionally I do, but not today.

This book is intended to shine light on a different way to approach the subject of grief, as it pertains to the death of a child. An un-approach, if you will. The definition of the word rule, according to the almighty Google, is:

1. one of a set of explicit or understood regulations or principles governing conduct within a particular activity or sphere.

the rules of the game were understood

My interpretation of the rules of grief is intended for the very small sphere of bereaved mothers who, like me, cannot find comfort in traditional ways of expressing grief. My hope is that maybe another mom out there reads this and thinks to herself, So, I’m not crazy after all, and then (knock on wood) decides to live fearlessly in honor of her lost child.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Rule 1: Hold tightly to your beliefs

Rule 2: You must bury your child

Rule 3: You must celebrate holidays

Rule 4: You must hold on to your child’s things

Rule 5: Don’t make any financial decisions for the next two years

Rule 6: Do not have a replacement child

Rule 7: You should go back to your old job

Rule 8: If you are single, do not get involved in a relationship right away

Rule 9: You should attend a support group

Rule 10: You must experience the five stages of grief in order to heal

Rule One

Hold tightly to your beliefs.

I was twelve years old when the R.E.M. song, Losing my Religion, was released. Being a good Catholic girl at the time, I hated the song. My family and I were hardcore Catholics. We didn’t just show up on Easter Sunday. I sang in the church choir, my mother played the organ, my Nana was in the Ladies Guild, mom taught Catechism on Saturdays. We were no joke. We were the real deal.

Somewhere in my teenage years, when I developed an opinion of my own, I decided that it was all bullshit. I have to be honest with myself, I had major issues with my religion long before my son was diagnosed with cancer. I have disagreed with many of the Catholic beliefs since I was a teenager. When Anthony, my second child, was born I was not married and neither of my children had been baptized. So according to the Catholic faith that would mean my children were going to hell right? I couldn’t and wouldn’t subscribe to that idea. I also found it disgusting that all those stories of priests and molestation were seemingly swept under the rug. I could go on and on but there is no reason to. The religion no longer served its purpose for me and so I no longer practiced it.

At the time of his diagnosis I was 27 years old, and already on shaky ground with God. I didn’t know where I stood or what I believed but I knew how I felt. I was angry, I was confused, and I was sure Anthony was being punished for my sins. I was certain this had to do with all my using the Lord’s name in vain and not honoring my father and mother. I think I broke every commandment possible with the exception of murder (although I did murder a few ex-boyfriends in my head. Does that count?). No one could have convinced me back then that Anthony’s cancer was not my fault. I was certain that this was the price for all of my sins. To me, there was no other explanation for why a child would be subjected to such cruelty.

During the three and a half years of his cancer treatment I