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Pearls of wisdom

Grief is always a very personal experience yet there are threads common to most situations.  Death is a life-changing event for the survivors.  We go through a gamut of emotions that can extract a significant toll on our well being.  

"Pearls of Wisdom" is intended to provide some degree of comfort by sharing the experiences of others who have also traveled that road and how they dealt with grief, in the hope of helping others realize that they too have had similar experiences and that by sharing them, grief can be alleviated.

This somewhat humble site is not intended to replace the works of psychologists and professionally trained grief counselors but rather to provide a starting point.  There are innumerable books that have been written to address these issues in greater details.  You will find herein a few titles and authors of published books available at your local library, bookstore or even on the Web.

Dr. Earl Grollman, world renowned Author, Educator & Counselor.

Dr. Grollman is the author of more than 27 books and has been featured on Oprah Winfrey and People Magazine.  He will discuss the profound feelings, interpretations and responses of the bereaved, and explain the potential for individual growth through the experience of grief. His talk embraces not just death and dying, but life and living.  An unforgettable speaker!

A pioneer in the field of crisis intervention, Dr. Grollman was the rabbi of the Beth El Temple Centre in Belmont, Massachusetts, until his early retirement in 1987 to devote himself to writing and lecturing. He and his daughter Sharon Grollman co-authored the "talking About..." series, which addresses different types of crises that children and adults must often face, and is now being used in schools throughout the United States and Canada.  His Talking About Death received the UNESCO award of the International Children and Youth Book Exhibition. Earl has appeared on national television and radion, including the Oprah Winfrey Show, and articles about him and his work have appeared inpublications as varied as People Magazine, Time, Harpers and Psychiatric Opinion.

Dr. Alan Wolfelt, Ph.D. Author, Educator, Grief Counselor.

Dr. Wolfelt is a noted author, educator and grief counselor.  Recipient of the Association for Death Education and Counseling's Death Education Award, he serves as Director of the Loss and Life Transition in Fort Collins, Colorado and is on the faculty at the University of Colorado Medical School in the Department of Family Medicine.

Among his many books, are "Healing Your Grieving Heart: 100 Practical Ideas", "Healing The Bereaved Child", "Creating Meaningful Funeral Ceremonies" and "Understanding Grief Helping Yourself Heal". Alan is also a contributing editor to "Bereavement Magazine" and writes for numerous journals.

Sharing

Certified Funeral Directors can be a significant source of information in these difficult times.  They can also provide you with guidance with Federal, Provincial or State Services available to you.  For many, they have chosen a career that requires caring for the woes of others and can be of great help and assistance.

When my mother passed away, I pretty well kept my personal feelings and emotions to myself.  I thought I was "handling" the situation rather well.  She had been ill for sometime as she had been battling cancer of the pancreas.  I had visited her several times although I lived in Vancouver, BC and she lived in a suburb of Montreal, Quebec.  The last time I saw her, a few months before she died, I had said my "goodbyes" fully expecting not to return as job demands and financial considerations weighed heavily. 

A few  months had passed when I received a call from my brother Jaques.  From the tone in his voice, I weakened at the knees and braced myself for the news I was sure he had for me.  I thought mom had died and he was calling to let me know.  I was "ready" for it.  He said: "Maman has been calling your name.  The doctors tell us it is only a matter of hours, perhaps a day or two at the most, then she'll be gone." I honestly cannot recall much or any of the rest of our conversation.   I got off the phone with tears streaming down my face, shattered by emotional pain and feeling sick deep within my body. I definitely was not as "ready" as I thought I was. 

After a brief discussion with my wife, I decided to fly back to Montreal as soon as I could.  Within hours, I was on my way.  As fate would have it, a huge snow storm hit Eastern Canada and I was left stranded in Toronto.  I was frantically looking for some other means to get to Montreal and my mother's bedside when I received another call.  Maman had passed away.  I arrived in Montreal the following day, emotionally spent and somewhat numb.  I went through all the appropriate motions; even delivered a eulogy for Maman and read a beautiful poem written by my nephew, Daniel.  After a brief stay with my family, I returned home to Vancouver and in time, life seemed to return to "normal".

When my mother-in-law, with whom I was also very close, died of cancer, emotions laid still for a long time deep within me since my own mother herself died resurfaced.  Not a day would go by without a tear beading down my face at the thought of either of them.  I had befriended a Funeral Director when my mother-in-law passed away.  He had been and remains a down-to-earth and kind-hearted man.  He has a way about him that inspires trust and confidence.  He is the kind of man to whom you can bare your soul without fear of derision. 

One day I decided to pay him a visit.  We sat together in one of his comfortable sitting rooms and he listened as I recounted the turmoil I had been going through.  At one point I asked him: "How long will it take before I can go through a day without feeling so miserable?"  His reply was preceded by a simple question... "How long did you carry such affection for your mother and your mother-in-law?"  I replied: "Well over fifty years for my mother and more than twenty for my mother-in-law.  Why do you ask?" , I queried.  "It's been my personal observation" he said without pretense, "that it could take just as long for some people to overcome their grief.  Some people walk into our lives for only a brief moment and leave a huge impression while others that we have known for a long time don't seem to have such an impact.  It really does not matter where you or they fit into the equation.  It's just how it is."  There was a brief silence as I tried to decipher what he had just said then I burst out laughing and so did he.  I said: "All I was really looking for was somewhat of a sugar-coated pill and reassurance that I was not going insane, not this profound philosophical concept of mourning."  As our laughter subdued,  I felt a tremendous sense of relief come over me.  There would always be a tomorrow where grief could be revisited and some days would be easier than others until, eventually, the pain would subside and the sweet memories would take over. 

Nearly two years have passed since that incident.  I attended a drop-in grief counseling workshop at a local hospital where I met several other people who also had lost someone near and dear.  It was difficult at first but, in time I came to realize that we all really need a time to grieve.  We sat around in relatively small groups and shared our grief, our pain and our sorrow.  Most every week, our moderator would welcome new members to the group and we would all share our stories and anecdotes with everyone.  That is when I came to  the realization that grief shared with many disperses the pain to a significant degree and as we allow ourselves to survive and help others, we ultimately help ourselves.

If you have read this page to this point and are going through a tough time, I urge you to seek out someone like my friend or a grief support group meeting in your area.  It will ultimately do you a world of good.  I still have the occasional "relapse" but I know I'm "OK".  I would not sacrifice Love in order to avoid the pain.  That would be too high a price to pay.

JC Pierre Bourbonnais,
Common mortal.


 

The Present

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

Epilogue:

There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy. "Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."

A.U.

Note From The Editor:

The above story was sent to me by my wife. She received it from a friend through eMail. The original author is unknown but the reason why I thought it was appropriate is that Life is what we make it. My wife has a note posted on the refrigerator door, a remnant of the days when our kids were small and we "decorated" it with magnetic letters and Post-It Notes for "Instant Messaging" or as encouragement and recognition.

It simply reads:" Pain is inevitable. Misery is optional."

It is important to grieve the loss of someone you love. There really is no time limit for that. Throughout your life there will be, in your heart, the memories that never go away. But Life does not stand still. Life goes on. Life is an adventure, a journey. So as soon as you are ready, hop back on and "see" the wonders of it all.

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