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• A Piece of Healing: Gratitude Speaks

Posted on August 15, 2014

I have a stack of journals in my bedside table, “blank books” that are no longer blank.  Some of the handwriting is indistinguishable, because they were written in hurriedly, often in the middle of the night with the lamp dimmed so that my husband wouldn’t wake.  The dates when the entries were written were 11 years ago, when my life, family and heart were shattered, when my son Alan took his own life.

Now I am writing about feeling gratitude. Eleven years ago I couldn’t imagine feeling grateful about anything.  My life had been dramatically changed by the worst loss.  I scanned the journals today and grief returned, surprisingly painful and tearful.  But as fresh and acute as the grief is, I am also very aware how quickly it can be replaced by feelings of peace, love and yes, gratitude.

I have gratitude for the times when I am playing in the ocean waves with friends.  It is my meditation, when I am “in the moment”, mindful, and not thinking about my next appointment, my shopping list, the household tasks, financial issues, my losses. My world is calm and beautiful.

I am grateful for the holidays with my family that feel “normal” once more.  Anniversaries of birth, marriage, death.   The candle on the curb on Christmas Eve, where Alan always parked, makes his siblings and me smile because he loved Christmas so.  I don’t avoid those times but embrace them.  I share them openly with love and laughter with friends and family. And sometimes tears.

I am ever grateful for the people I would never have known except for that heartbreaking event in July 2003, the people that I met because they also lost a loved one.  We don’t dwell on our losses anymore, but celebrate their lives and ours.  That includes:

•  The grandmother who had been a neighbor for years and we became close when her beloved granddaughter took her own life.  She has a delightfully wicked sense of humor and loves a martini now and then.  She is my friend.
• The woman whom I met when she lost her son to AIDS is now my friend.  She makes me laugh and we always find humor in adversity.  Good thing, ‘cause we both have had a lot of adversity!
• The man living down the street, whose license plate honored his dead son and who came to my door and comforted me when my son died.  Because of that he became a dear friend to my husband and me, celebrating birthdays and betting at the races.
• The lovely young woman who lost a brother to suicide and walks his dog in my neighborhood. She sells cosmetics, and subsequently treated my daughter and me to facials and makeovers,  a lovely little respite which  we enjoyed.
• The SOSL support groups I attended and worked with held a myriad of friends.  Those meetings were wrought with emotion, however I can’t think of one that didn’t include something to smile about and ended with hugs.
• It goes without saying I am ever grateful for my remaining family, Alan’s sister Susie and brother Scott.  When they were children it seemed that I never said one name without the other two following, my three kids.  The grief they had to overcome when their brother died doubled mine. Focusing on my missing child has been replaced with enjoying his brother and sister and their families to the fullest. My favorite photos of Alan show him with his young nieces.  My family fills my life with joy, adventure and humor. (Have I mentioned I love to laugh?)
• And finally I am deeply grateful for the many, many now-routine mornings, when I wake up and my first thought is not about losing my son.

There is no formula for how to survive loss, or how long it takes. Time heals but does not erase.  I never want to forget Alan. I read recently that no one is dead as long as their name is spoken.  I am grateful that I hear his name often and with gentle memories.

Christa Jewett Stahl

August 12, 2014

“The cure for anything is salt water:  Sweat, tears or the sea”

– Isak Dineson, author of “Out of Africa”

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