Treasures in Tragedy: A Journey Through Grief

By Kathleen Hathaway Mitchel

After Steven died, I began to read books about grieving, written by those who also had a child die. I could not get enough. I needed to feel like I was not alone. I needed to identify with somebody. I needed to know that I was not going crazy and that what I was feeling was normal -- whatever normal means when your child has died. It helped knowing others had gone through what I was now experiencing. I learned that bereaved parents may do things that seem strange to others. That does not mean they are crazy or that they are not moving forward in their grief. They are coping the best way they can. They are trying to keep their childs memory alive. Darcie Sims, a former grief counselor and bereaved parent, once said that as long as you are not hurting yourself or anyone else, then you are grieving exactly the way you need to do it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Sep 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781504387026

Kathleen Hathaway Mitchel

Kathy is a bereaved mother and sibling. She has experienced multiple losses and has an insightful perspective on grief. She shares her path through suffering from tears to soaring. She is a beacon of hope to anyone grieving the death of a loved one. Kathy enjoys swimming and reading. She currently works with Early Intervention and lives in Tobyhanna, PA.

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Copyright © 2017 Kathleen Hathaway Mitchel.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-8701-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-8703-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-8702-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017913691

Balboa Press rev. date: 09/11/2017

Contents

1.     Introduction

2.     Tears

3.     Reinforcements

4.     Engaging

5.     Acceptance

6.     Solace

7.     Understanding

8.     Reconstruction

9.     Encouragement

10.   Soaring

11.   Conclusion

12.   Poems

13.   Resources

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the bereaved parents and families who offered candid suggestions and graciously allowed me to share their stories. Your honesty and personal insight is genuinely appreciated. You are among the bravest and most kindhearted people I know.

I would also like to thank Elisha Carney, for first editing this book. She went to school with my son, Steven, which made her contribution in this memoir even more special. Her heartfelt input and positive feedback is deeply valued.

Most of all, I want to thank God for never letting go. His inspiration has been significant in allowing me the ability to express my thoughts in writing.

This book is dedicated to my son, Tony, the unwavering hero in my story. He has been my strongest ally and fiercest supporter in this grief journey. He has been my greatest motivator, from the contemplation of writing my memoir until its completion. He challenges me to strive for more than I think I can do.

Introduction

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We cannot re-create this world … We cannot even, truly, re-create ourselves.

Only our behavior can re-create or create anew.

—Alice Walker

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I am writing this book for anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one but especially for those who have suffered the loss of a child or sibling. I have buried two children and a brother, so I have traveled this grief road several times in different circumstances; I have learned many lessons along the way. I found some relief in knowing that in the midst of sorrow, there are many hidden treasures.

You may be struggling with your own pain right now and see no hope. Maybe you feel alone and are searching for answers. Perhaps you have found peace and seek to connect with others. Or maybe you are searching for ways to identify and help others in their grief. My hope is that my story will help you. Early on in my grief, I began reading books about others who had lost children and siblings, about grief, about signs, and anything else I thought would help me cope. Those books made me feel I was not alone and gave me hope that I would survive. This book is intended to not only share my story but to help you navigate yours.

I include questions for you to ponder and journal, rituals that help you reclaim some control over your grief, resources and ideas for keeping the memory of your loved one alive, and suggestions for families and friends to help the bereaved. My desire is to help you find promise for a future in which you will once again thrive.

At the end of each chapter, I will ask you to reflect on a gift you have received. Grieving is difficult work, and it helps to look for small oases along the way, places where you find peace and people who care. Nothing will ever eliminate the pain you feel, but there are ways to help lessen the weight you carry. I suggest that you take the time to write out your responses to the questions at the end of each chapter and reflect on them.

There are no guarantees in life. My dad once told me that life is about change. Nothing ever stays the same. Life happens. It’s not about fair or unfair, just or unjust, right or wrong, good or bad. What is important is how we respond to the events that occur in our lives. Once we realize that, we will come to know that life is all about the choices we make at every turn and fork in the road. Life is a series of paths we walk along. Some choices help us grow and heal and some keep us stuck in a victimized state. Sometimes we come face to face with people who may mean well but guide us in a wrong direction. Sometimes we feel we are spinning out of control due to circumstances beyond our control. We must find a place of stillness, difficult as it can be, so we are able to breathe and feel peace, even if just for a moment. The attitudes and choices we make today determine what tomorrow looks like.

We cannot escape life’s troubles and tragedies. We all experience pain and heartbreak in our lives, as well as joy and love. Each event sends us forth in a new direction and into a new reality. We must be able to adapt to the changes that are always occurring. Sometimes our world is so altered that it is turned inside out. We experience fear, helplessness, and sometimes hopelessness. In these moments of vulnerability, what we do defines us. We must learn to allow ourselves the opportunity to question, be sad, afraid, angry, and eventually to heal.

I thank God for my life and my blessings. In this unpredictable and irrational world, it is too easy to forget all the genuine gifts life has to offer. I am not saying life is easy or that I am happy every moment of every day. Sometimes, I admit, it is a struggle to find any joy. But I would like to share my journey with you, the lessons I have learned and the direction I have chosen to keep my life progressing along this bittersweet road. My healing continues to be a work in progress.

My goal in writing this book is that my story brings you hope and companionship and helps you find the treasures amid your tragedies.

There have been many wonderful experiences in my life, despite the heartaches. But this book is not about those things. Most of us don’t need help and inspiration during the good times. It is when we are down that we need someone to help pick us back up and get us on our feet. We need someone to guide us forward in our own journey. That is what I hope my story does for you.

I have had the support of family and friends along the way. I have known some amazing and special people who have touched my life deeply. I have watched brave warriors battle illness with such grace that it has left me in awe. I have experienced the kindness of strangers and seen people rise to their best to help a fellow earthly traveler who is stumbling and falling. I have developed an unwavering faith and trust in God, most of which was forged in the times of greatest heartache.

I know we all navigate in our own way as we travel this path before us. Our grief is individually unique, but we all share the loss of someone we loved, and that unites us. I hope you will find encouragement and validation in the following pages that will help you and perhaps give you strength, peace, and hope.

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Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.

—Mahatma Gandhi

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Tears

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Grief is not a sign of weakness, or a lack of faith; it is the price of love.

—Anonymous

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When I was twenty-five years old, I became pregnant for the first time. Dan, my husband at the time, and I were excited and filled with anticipation for our new arrival. We had been married for only six months when we bought a house in a small development in Pocono Summit, Pennsylvania, in the Pocono Mountains, and began making plans. After much disagreement, we finally chose names: Danielle for a girl and Thomas for a boy. We bought a few baby items but planned to wait for the baby shower before making any more purchases. I had a blanket, some clothing, and a few stuffed animals.

As this was my first pregnancy, I had no idea what to expect. We were so ecstatic the first time we heard the baby’s heartbeat! It just made everything more real. The first flutters of movement were breathtaking! A life was growing inside of me, and it was amazing! I began to eagerly anticipate the arrival of my baby. I began imagining what it would feel like to hold my child close in my arms and feel that undeniable love and warmth. I wondered what he or she would look like. Would the baby have red hair like me? What color eyes? Then I began pondering my child’s interests, my child’s future friends, and what my child would do with his or her life. I had many questions and many dreams.

In August 1985, at about twenty-nine weeks, I began cramping and spotting. I went to the doctor. I was due at the end of October, so this was too early for labor. Lying on the table in the doctor’s office, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. One doctor entered the room, examined me, and left with a concerned look on her face. Then a second doctor came in and checked me again. He also looked worried. He said they could not find the baby’s heartbeat. I was terrified. I began to weep. Dr. deQuevedo tried to console me and told me not to worry until we knew something for sure. He sent me for an ultrasound.

After the ultrasound, Dan and I returned to the doctor’s office for the results. He told us the awful news that our baby had died. I went into shock. I did not hear much of what he had to say. I remember looking at the box of tissues on the shelf and thinking they must keep them in the examining room for times like this. The doctor believed I would go into labor that night; but if not, he would induce me the following morning. He gave me medicine for the pain and sent me home. I called my parents, who arrived that night, just as contractions began. They drove Dan and me to the hospital around four that morning. I was a mess. I had not slept; I was on painkillers and distraught over the death of my baby, petrified about delivering this child. I was taken to labor and delivery. Dan joined me there. My parents were in the waiting room. After a few hours of sobbing, and hyperventilating as I endured the painful myriad of contractions, Baby Danielle was stillborn at seven in the morning on August 21.

After she was born, I was briefly allowed to hold her. She was tiny. She fit between my elbow and the palm of my hand. I gently stroked her matted hair and caressed her lifeless little body. I held her tiny hands in mine. Dan and I counted all her fingers and toes. I remember lying there in disbelief, a sense of numbness overtaking my body. It was all surreal. I became an observer, watching the events unfold before me, having retreated to a place deep inside of me. It was as if a stranger had come to reside within me. I watched everything but felt nothing.

I had to stay in the hospital for a day after giving birth. I was put in a room by myself on the maternity floor. When I walked down the hall to take a shower, I saw the other moms holding their babies. It was unbearable. My soul ached for the baby I would never again see or embrace.

I was given a copy of Danielle’s footprints. No one took pictures, so I have only my memory to recall how precious she looked. My sweet baby girl who never got to take a breath in this world would profoundly affect my life. My heart was broken. How could this have happened? Did I do something wrong? How could I have carried her inside me, given birth, and have no baby to bring home? It was inconceivable.

We later found out she had died a couple weeks earlier. Danielle had never moved much. We were so busy with moving into our first home and fixing up the house and yard. There was furniture to buy and decorating to do. At one point, Dan attempted to remove some branches from a tree in our front yard and fell fifteen feet. He broke his arm and required both surgery and physical therapy. I was so preoccupied with helping Dan in his recovery and preparing for the new addition to our family that I could not remember when I’d last felt any movement. It was my first baby, and up till then, I’d had no reason for alarm or concern.

My parents helped to plan Danielle’s funeral. They showed me pictures of a small white baby casket lined in pink satin. I was unable look at it. I could not begin contemplating burying my baby. I am ever grateful to them for making the preparations for us. My mom and dad met with the funeral director, selected the casket, and chose the burial plot. They spoke with our priest and made arrangements for him to pray at the cemetery and say a Mass in her memory. We had a quiet ceremony at her gravesite, just Dan, me, and both our parents. Our priest, Monsignor Kaschenbach, spoke, but I have no idea what he said.