The forgotten mourners…

I attended another “webinar” a couple of weeks ago, it takes a while to process all the information that is offered in a single session.  This particular presentation was on sibling grief, siblings are frequently referred to as the “forgotten mourners.”  The siblings of the child who has died can sometimes get lost in the concern for the parents, and if the siblings are older, they go back to their lives after the funeral with very little support.  Both Doug and I have buried siblings and grieving a sibling is complicated, no one pattern fits each sibling.  Each relationship unique as a snowflake, so many variables that come into play.

When a sibling dies, the surviving child or children lose the person that they have spent 80 to 90% of their life spans with, the person that knows all the inside family jokes, who knows the family stories and history. When it is the only sibling that dies, then all that dies too, there is no one who remembers your past like a brother or sister.  No one  knows your story like your siblings, you tell your siblings things that you would never tell your parents, it was your sibling that you stayed up all night with, was your sibling that you went to first with news that you didn’t know how to tell mom and dad.

When a child dies, the surviving child or children not only loses a brother or sister, they also lose the parents that they once knew, the parents they knew died with the child, and in their place are people who are shell shocked and exhausted, maybe distant and eerily quiet. Parents who suddenly look older and grey. Parents whose voices crack and tears hover always threatening to fall. Metaphorically speaking the home they once knew has been swept away and returning home can be more like a survey of the damage than a joyful reunion. Sometimes even the foundation is gone and the entire shape of the house becomes different. You long for the old home while at the same time scour the wreckage for what can be saved, and used to rebuild.

The webinar shared that we spend more free time with our siblings than we do with friends, parents, teachers, their statistic was 33% of free time is spent with siblings. In our experience, that percentage is  much higher, nearly all our free time is spent with siblings, they are my best friends and allies. The boys grew up with that closeness, they knew their aunts and uncles, heard me on the phone with my brothers and sister-in-laws, when we don’t touch base with each other, we feel the absence and work to reconnect.

I thought the boys would always have each other, a brother guards your back like none other. I believed that they would enjoy that same closeness, sit at the table together when they were older and laugh, tell stories, look at old pictures.  Another layer of parental grief is exposed as the truth and reality hit you, you grieve for what will never be. Grief and guilt, all parents feel guilt, it is unavoidable when a child dies. When a child dies, the anticipated future dies also, so much death, so much sorrow.

A question was posed from a grieving parent to the presenter, the parent asked what was the single most important thing that a parent could do to help their surviving child or children.  The answer was swift, the more parents take care of themselves, the better they are to themselves, the better off your surviving children will be. Wow. I had suspected as much, but to hear it articulated from a veteran, a surviving child who has dedicated her life to helping others navigate the death of a brother or sister, it gave me much to ponder. What does it mean exactly to take care of oneself? What does it mean to be good to oneself? Isn’t that selfish, or could it be critical to  rebuilding? I could hardly wait to ask Ryan as to the validity of the above statement, did he feel that to be true?  And when I had a quiet moment to present it to him, he agreed. More interior reflection, more puzzling, more questing. We can tell him we are okay, that we are fine, but the boy has always been able to discern BS from a mile away. What if it is possible to somehow offer him in small reparation, the gift of seeing us take care of each other, to nurture that what is left, to coax new life from what appears to be a dead tree?

I have seen new life happen, stubbornly in an old rose that insists on growing back year after year.  Been cutting it down for 20 years, and it defiantly sends up growth every year, some years it has even had the audacity to bloom.  It is not a rose that you would ever stop to look at, the blooms are small, the growth not luxurious or showy, just small, thin and persistent. Never will it match the beauty of it magnificent cousins that grow in the hedge, maybe it doesn’t have to, perhaps it is enough that it simply grows.