Oct 13, 2021
Hello, my name is Adam and I was asked to share on my experience in the Men’s Grief Support Group.
I had first been introduced to the Bereaved Families of Southwestern Ontario organization after my former partner and I went through three traumatic losses trying to start a family.
We attended the pregnancy & infant loss group with other couples who had experienced similar situations. It is tough to find the right words to describe it, as it was an emotionally rough time, both in my life and in the group. Though there was a lot of heavy feelings, and crying, the outcome of knowing that I wasn’t alone in these feelings was extremely beneficial.
However, like most people my journey did not end there. I found myself struggling with my mental health and sobriety for a few years. It wasn’t until during the pandemic I realized that I needed to make some changes in my life, and the opportunity to participate in the Men’s Grief Support group presented itself.
I had experienced first hand the lack of support and stereotypes most men are forced into in our society. “Man up, sit down. Chin up, pipe down. Socks up, don’t cry. Drink up, just lie.” It is largely still a taboo for us to talk about or question gender roles when it comes to grief. It is a burden which is assumed we must carry alone.
Finding myself in a place where I was trying to be proactive in bettering my mental health, I knew I needed to speak with other men about their own journey’s of grief. Even though I didn’t find that I was currently in a bad place or in crisis, I also wanted to help foster and support a much needed community.
Our co-facilitators were great at guiding us through introductions and sharing the stories which brought us together. Offering support and guidance along the way. I have found that being able to give my grief space outside of my own mind very helpful.
Hearing how other people have and continue to navigate their individual grief allows me to add context to my own story.
I can better understand my thoughts and emotions as they present themselves.
Whoa, heavy, right?
Simply put, family and friends mean a lot to me. However, there are some things I have been through in this life that they do not fully understand. Which is no fault of their own, it is because they haven’t had to deal with it in their lives.
I knew going into the this support group that it would be a safe and open space for people to share and understand each other.
I was not disappointed. Hearing our stories of sadness, frustration, anger and how life goes on if we are ready or not, gave me the continuing encouragement I need to be a better and stronger me.
I want to thank everyone involved in making it happen, as I feel we are all better for it.
Jun 3, 2021
This past January, my youngest son turned fourteen. The same day an ailing family member sadly passed away – despite having recovered from Covid-19 recently.
This day also marked one day shy of fifteen years since my pregnancy loss.
I have memories of my pregnancy loss, some faded, some vivid if I choose to recall them. Most of the time they are like photos tucked away that you never look at, but know are there. With my recent family loss bringing up buried feelings, this reflection came about.
I remember leaving the bright lights of the hospital with my husband feeling empty handed, retreating to the quiet darkness of our home in the wee hours, our toddler asleep under the care of a dear friend. She drove like the wind from out of town to help us in our time of need, our time of loss, thank God.
There’s an Italian saying, “La lingua va dove manca il dente.” The tongue goes to the missing tooth. As children we feel that empty spot with curiosity, with anticipation of it being filled in. As adults, the missing tooth symbolizes all the things, including people, we long to have back.
Pregnancy loss created a void. It eclipsed me. It was obscure. My loss was tangible, my body witness to it, but there was no funeral. No headstone. No marker except my memory.
Added to this at the time was an upended workplace and unsettled extended family matters. I wanted it deal with it by not dealing with it, all of it – personal and professional.
At times my feelings of loss and being lost were akin to a road map splayed across my steering wheel, a road map I was unable to understand on my own. I was not willing to stop and ask for help because I couldn’t control the help.
I didn’t want to be consoled for having a first-born already.
I didn’t want to be questioned, even shamed, for staying home a day.
And I didn’t want to be told that it would hit me hard later after the shock wore off.
All I wanted was someone to sweep my floor while I took a nap and closed the book on this chapter.
That was then.
More than ten years later a well-intentioned person suggested that I name my unborn child, talk about it more openly and participate in a group.
The name part I had done. I was not keen on talking though. I tried it once and it felt forced. The second time was a bit better although I kept it vague.
For me it was a logical conundrum. It was impossible to discuss what happened without the tangle of other personal matters. “To pull up the plant is to be showered in dirt.”
Around the same time, I confided in a friend about my hesitation.
She said, “You do this on your own time, how you want, if you want to.” This acknowledgement that there was no timeline or road map for expressing grief took away some of my guilt. It could take years, and that was okay. I could breathe. I could even cry for the first time since we left the hospital in 2006.
Living through a pandemic has unfortunately forced us to limit or set aside sharing our grief in person over the loss of loved ones at any age from any circumstance.
The traditional plans we made for our family member in February were changed completely to an intimate service for eight. At least we had that. The cards helped. The emails helped.
And yet it was difficult for the family. A dear family member remembered, but not quite fully honoured, not yet. No big funeral and luncheon. A death that likely will seem to many as intangible.
I tried hard to dismiss my pregnancy loss because I could. I tried hard to honour the loss of my family member when it was challenging to do so. The irony is as obvious as a headlight. It caused me to tremble. It caused me to awaken.
I remember my pregnancy loss with mixed feelings. The timing of my second pregnancy that I lost, overlaps with my third pregnancy, and birth of my youngest son.
I expect I will continue to grieve in this way – for the most part privately and hidden. Dealing with each instance of grief when it resurfaces.
And so it is.
Written by a community member of Bereaved Families of Ontario – Southwest Region with some details adjusted to support anonymity.
We hope that this members’ reflections are helpful to you, especially for those who may choose to grieve more quietly in private. You are not alone.
Feb 24, 2021
by Susan Ratz, Executive Director
Grief as a Teacher
This was a theme presented in a training course I am taking about grief and loss.
It is a strong statement.
Education and learning is generally seen as a positive. Life-enhancing. Improving yourself.
But when we are faced with grief, I don’t think too many people think… terrific, I’m going to learn some fabulous new skills and this is going to be a great addition to my resume.
Instead we are thrown into a class we may not realize existed, and one we didn’t really want to take. Ummm… yes.. could I speak with the Guidance Department and switch to maybe Biology or an Art class?
When I roam around the internet to help me think through this theme and write about it here, it still remains difficult to explain.
I find an article about key characteristics of a teacher. They include – patient, organized, prepared, professional, responsible, creates a trusting environment… their students know what is expected of them, friendly.
No… I definitely wouldn’t characterize grief as ANY of those.
(Definitely not friendly – that kind of potential comparison strikes me as almost comical.)
I find a blog called “The 64 Hardest Lessons That Grief Taught Me” and the various revelations individuals share here… although at times hard to read because they are often painful, these seem more realistic. (Link included below.)
In the end I really can’t easily explain the sentiment of “grief as a teacher”, my ability to package it into a nice little article with some bullet points and helpful comments escapes me, although it still strikes me as a valid concept.
What these thoughts have provided me (and hopefully you) are an opportunity to reflect on this view of grief. My hope is that although many experiences with grief can be so painful, perhaps you can recognize some valuable insights or strengths you have gained along this journey as well.
If you would like, we’ve also posted about this on Instagram here and on Facebook here. Feel free to visit these posts if you would like to make a comment, and / or read what others thoughts on this are.
Take care…
Susan
PS – If you would like to read “The 64 Hardest Lessons That Grief Taught Me” you can find that by clicking here.
Jan 25, 2021
Dear members,
Effective mid-February our office will no longer be located at 571 Wharncliffe Rd S.
I realize this announcement may come as a shock to some – especially those who spent time at the Wharncliffe Rd office. It really has been more than an office, but a home, for Bereaved Families and its members for so many years.
In the months ahead our team will be working remotely from individual locations as we expect that providing support through phone calls and virtual support groups will be common place for the foreseeable future.
As time progresses, and the future of in-person contact is more certain, we will look at once again reviewing our office and meeting space arrangements.
As some may know, our landlord for all of these years has been the London Home Builders Association who have always been very generous with our rental agreement.
This past fall, London Home Builders Association made the decision to sell their units – including the one Bereaved Families occupied – that are located in the building at 571 Wharncliffe Rd S. Subsequently, our unit has been sold.
Although plans are coming together for the move, it does take time to make arrangements, pack and organize – especially during a pandemic, and we appreciate your patience at this time as we transition.
A few notes:
Our mailing address has been updated to a PO Box & a forwarding service will be applied to our Wharncliffe address.
Our new mailing address is:
Bereaved Families of Ontario – Southwest Region
PO Box 22067
London, ON N6A 6H8
Our phone number 519-686-1573 will not change although there may be some delays late January to early February answering messages as this service moves.
The books in the Darren Walsh Memorial Library will be stored, and as time allows we will be reviewing these materials and determining how to move forward with these in the future.
If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to reach out to me at [email protected] or a leave a message for me at 519-686-1573.
Sincerely,
Susan Ratz
Executive Director
