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Authors: Rita Volpe
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and little else defined us. Thankfully, that has changed with time.
Rita: “I no longer define myself as a bereaved mother. That would negate the fact that I am the mother of another very much alive son.”
There are so many raw emotions involved in the fragile family dynamic that exists between grieving parents, who are hardly able to get themselves through the day, and their remaining children. The children have not only lost a brother or sister, to whom they may have been extremely close, but they have also lost the mother and father that they always knew.
Lorenza: “Our daughter Allegra lived alone in the city. For a while she stayed away from our house because it was too painful for her. At times she was unable to speak to her father on the phone because his voice betrayed the depth of his grief and anguish. There were so many memories for her and she felt that we, her parents, had changed.”
In some cases, our surviving children witnessed the enormous grief that enveloped their parents and they could not help but wonder if the dead child was the favored one. Did their parents love that child more?
One of us cringes to this day as she recalls wondering in the midst of her terrible grief if she actually did love her deceased child more than her surviving children. The rest of us do not remember ever experiencing that particular inner turmoil, which once again points to the fact that reactions differ among bereaved persons.
Sadly, when our living children needed us the most, we had the least to give. We are cognizant of that now; we wish we were more aware of it then.
As we watched our surviving children go forward with their lives, we could not help but wonder what the future might have held for our dead child.
As for our surviving children, they, too, found moving on to be rough going. It was often difficult for them to speak to us of their lost sibling.
Rita: “Our younger son, Tommy, left the house a lot. He spent time out with friends and he tried to avoid us. When we asked about his feelings, he refused to tell us, saying that he did not want to add any more pain to what we already had.”
Some of us arranged for our surviving children to have counseling, and some of our children found their own form of therapy, seeking out and befriending other young people who had lost a brother or sister or perhaps a parent. At home, they learned to step quietly around us and ruffle no feathers for fear of what might occur.
Barbara G.: “My children walked on eggshells around me … . They still do. I have not had a good fight with my children since Howie died. I often wonder if my kids think I’d fall apart completely if they were to disagree with me.”
In the first chapter, we described how we became fearless in the face of danger. We did not fear death for ourselves, indeed, at times we welcomed the thought. After all, we had already experienced the worst that could possibly happen. It did not occur to us that our children might be experiencing those same horrid emotions … at least not until it was pointed out to us.
Rita: “At one point my son Tommy told me he would go to sleep each night with a switchblade next to his bed. I think he told me that for its shock value. He was crying out for attention. And then exactly one year after his brother died, he totaled my car.”
Despite our initial feeling that we could not be further hurt, no matter what happened, we eventually all began to feel the emergence of more appropriate parental concerns. With the passage of several years, we started to worry again about our surviving children. We knew we were “getting better” as such customary worries returned.
Of course, now such worries are accompanied by the sad fact that we really have no control over our children’s lives. We want to keep them safe; we have learned that we cannot do so. Their lives are not in our hands.
A number of us were greatly comforted by the concern and compassion of our surviving
Rita: “I no longer define myself as a bereaved mother. That would negate the fact that I am the mother of another very much alive son.”
There are so many raw emotions involved in the fragile family dynamic that exists between grieving parents, who are hardly able to get themselves through the day, and their remaining children. The children have not only lost a brother or sister, to whom they may have been extremely close, but they have also lost the mother and father that they always knew.
Lorenza: “Our daughter Allegra lived alone in the city. For a while she stayed away from our house because it was too painful for her. At times she was unable to speak to her father on the phone because his voice betrayed the depth of his grief and anguish. There were so many memories for her and she felt that we, her parents, had changed.”
In some cases, our surviving children witnessed the enormous grief that enveloped their parents and they could not help but wonder if the dead child was the favored one. Did their parents love that child more?
One of us cringes to this day as she recalls wondering in the midst of her terrible grief if she actually did love her deceased child more than her surviving children. The rest of us do not remember ever experiencing that particular inner turmoil, which once again points to the fact that reactions differ among bereaved persons.
Sadly, when our living children needed us the most, we had the least to give. We are cognizant of that now; we wish we were more aware of it then.
As we watched our surviving children go forward with their lives, we could not help but wonder what the future might have held for our dead child.
As for our surviving children, they, too, found moving on to be rough going. It was often difficult for them to speak to us of their lost sibling.
Rita: “Our younger son, Tommy, left the house a lot. He spent time out with friends and he tried to avoid us. When we asked about his feelings, he refused to tell us, saying that he did not want to add any more pain to what we already had.”
Some of us arranged for our surviving children to have counseling, and some of our children found their own form of therapy, seeking out and befriending other young people who had lost a brother or sister or perhaps a parent. At home, they learned to step quietly around us and ruffle no feathers for fear of what might occur.
Barbara G.: “My children walked on eggshells around me … . They still do. I have not had a good fight with my children since Howie died. I often wonder if my kids think I’d fall apart completely if they were to disagree with me.”
In the first chapter, we described how we became fearless in the face of danger. We did not fear death for ourselves, indeed, at times we welcomed the thought. After all, we had already experienced the worst that could possibly happen. It did not occur to us that our children might be experiencing those same horrid emotions … at least not until it was pointed out to us.
Rita: “At one point my son Tommy told me he would go to sleep each night with a switchblade next to his bed. I think he told me that for its shock value. He was crying out for attention. And then exactly one year after his brother died, he totaled my car.”
Despite our initial feeling that we could not be further hurt, no matter what happened, we eventually all began to feel the emergence of more appropriate parental concerns. With the passage of several years, we started to worry again about our surviving children. We knew we were “getting better” as such customary worries returned.
Of course, now such worries are accompanied by the sad fact that we really have no control over our children’s lives. We want to keep them safe; we have learned that we cannot do so. Their lives are not in our hands.
A number of us were greatly comforted by the concern and compassion of our surviving
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