A Tribute To Ellie

Ellie Valdez Honeyman has touched and inspired very many lives. She was one of those rare souls whom others are always happy to encounter, even if just in passing and to share a quick hello. She had a natural way of always leaving other feeling uplifted, and I know those who had the privilege of knowing her will always remember that.

Ellie died earlier this week after a very courageous battle with cancer. And the tremendous number of lives she touched in her lifetime ranged from those who loved her dearly, to a large community of friends who were deeply touched reading about her brave and valiant battle with her terrible cancer which became yet another inspiring testament of just ”who” she was.

I met Ellie many years ago when we both worked at Laradon Hall School and Vocational Center for children and adults with developmental disabilities. Ellie headed the Laradon Early Education Program (LEEP), while I worked in the adult vocational center. And although we rarely worked directly together,  she frequently contributed to the monthly newsletter which I coordinated. As anyone who knew her will quickly tell you, no project was ever too big or too small for Ellie, and she tackled every single one with commitment and determination and was a joy to work with.

A few months ago (Summer 2008), a group of “alumni” employees put together a reunion picnic at Laradon Hall so we could reconnect with old friends and co-workers. Ellie attended with her family, and although the toll of the cancer was evident, it is more notable that she was her usual cheerful self that we all remembered so well. I was reminded of just how remarkable a person she truly was; always full of joy and optimism, and how that had not changed even as she bravely faced her cancer and her mortality.

Ellie generously chronicled her personal journey with cancer in a weekly blog, and true to her nature, she continued to be active in the community right up until her passing. Her faith and optimism as she battled the terrible disease that invaded her body and life was awe-inspiring to witness.  

Today I pay tribute and thank Ellie, not only for myself, but also on behalf of the countless others who were blessed and inspired by having known her. She will be fondly remembered and sadly missed by the countless people who are better for having known her.

Read More About Ellie Here

John Pete, GC-C, is a Certified Grief Counselor and Founder of www.MyGriefSpace.Net

Loss of A Sibling by P. Gill White, PhD

For many years I have denied the unusual experience that happened to me when my sister Linda was in the hospital just prior to her death from cancer at the age of 13.  I realize now that this was a significant part of my spiritual journey.   

She had been in the hospital for nearly 4 months.  One night, I was asleep at home when I heard her softly calling my name….”Pat….Pa-a-a-t” –over and over.  I woke up and looked around.  The room was dark but a little light came in from the streetlights outside.  I got out of bed and went to the window.  I still remember looking up the street and seeing only the yellowish light on the sidewalk. I heard her call again…”P-a-a-a-t……P-a-a-a-t”.   I couldn’t tell if it was coming from outside of me or inside my own mind.  This scared me.  

I turned to the door and opened it to go wake up my mother.  But as I opened my door, my mother was opening hers, and we both said at the same time,  ”I hear Linda calling me.”  Just then, the phone rang.  It was someone at the hospital calling to say that she was hemorrhaging and wouldn’t last long.  She died a few hours later.   

At first, I told myself that she was reaching out to me at the time when she was hovering between life and death–a way of saying good-bye.  I was fifteen and able to accept that kind of thinking.  Later, I rejected my adolescent belief and convinced myself that this event was merely a coincidence.  That somehow, my subconscious mind had figured out when she was going to die, and woke me up.  I became a rationalist.  If I couldn’t see it or touch it, it didn’t exist.  Gradually, however, as the years went by, I stopped caring about explaining it rationally and just accepted that it happened.   

My sister’s death has shaped my life and I have spent a great many of my adult years working as a counselor with people who have lost a brother or sister.  Hundreds of people have told me stories similar to mine, about how their brother or sister came to them in a dream to say good-bye, or came to visit them just before being killed in a car wreck, or ‘happened’ to run into them the day before they died, even though they hadn’t seen each other in years.   I now believe that the connection between loved ones is so strong that it transcends death.   

Antoine de St. Exupery, in his book, The Little Prince, said it simply,  “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.”  

I do not understand the spiritual world, but I believe it exists.  It no longer scares me to think about things that I can’t explain.  I trust in that connection and just accept it. That is enough for me now.   

P. Gill White, PhD Director, The Sibling Connection www.siblingconnection.net

On Choice and Grief by Henya Shanun-Klein, Ph.D.

Printed with permissions and courtesy of
Dr. Henya Shanun-Klein, Ph.D.

When Grief drags us down, leaving us breathlessly beat at the bottom of bottoms - we are confronted with a dilemma: should we stay ‘down under’? Or should we make an effort to surface, to breathe again? Staying ‘down under’ means to, eventually, die of suicide. Question: Is that what our living or dead children want or would have wanted us to do? If the answer is “no!” then there’s only one true option: Re-learn to breathe, re-learn to live, learn to find new meaning in life. 

As described in Gili’s Book, when I realized that my grief for Gili was not a task to be completed, a stage or a phase to be over with, or a condition that I would eventually recover from, but rather a new existential state that will last a life time, I first perceived my condition as a punishment that I deserved - for failing to protect my child, for failing to save her life, for surviving her! The realization that grief is life long was tinted with self-blame and guilt, the closest I could get, emotionally, to feeling dead. But, using my bereavement model’s terminology, in my ongoing journey of readjustment to living without Gili, in the fluid motions/steps Inward, or soul searching, and Outward, or attempts of reconnection with life - my guilt and self-blame were eased off. I recognized the normalcy of this new state. I was not going crazy - feeling self-blame, guilt and shame, and wishing to drop dead; feeling rage at the ‘world’ who kept going as if nothing had happened, hearing Gili’s voice, feeling her presence, yearning to be with her, all that and much more, was common! I was not the only one feeling that. Other bereaved parents felt just like me regardless of the number of years that have passed since their child’s death. I carried with me Gili’s Real-Image. This is the past-oriented image. The actual memories of her imprinted on every cell of my being by her physical life, and to be stored for as long as I shall live. I, gradually, developed a Shadow-Image, a future-oriented image of Gili, characterized by ‘what if’ type thinking: What if she survived her injuries, what kind of life would she have lived today? I discovered that other parents were as attached to their deceased child as I am, again, regardless of the years that have passed since their child’s death. The realization that grief is life long and that all of its manifestations as exaggerated as they may appear both to the grieving parent and to the outside observer, and as prolonged as they may seem, are all normal - is comforting now. It was not a punishment any longer. Then, using again my Model’s terminology, I started noticing Turning Points in my mourning. Mental and physical energy shifted intentionally toward reconnection to the outside world - each one representing a step toward the definition of a new mission in life. My ultimate goal became to turn surviving into living by finding new meaning in my life. Finding new meaning had to include Gili’s dreams and assumed goals, redefining my relationships with my surviving son, with my spouse, with other family relatives, with colleagues and friends, new and old. I approached each one of these goals and relationships, with a mind frame that whatever they and I experience at the moment is temporary - it may change in time. I examined each relationship by asking myself: how important is this person to me, now? Is this person contributing to my well being or is he/she ‘sucking’ the little life I had left in me? Is the relationship reciprocal or one-sided? Do I ‘suck the life’ out of them? Do I have the energy or the motivation to change anything? Can I reassure those that were central to my existence that although Gili is at the center of my visual field - after all, I was the self appointed family historian, that they are not forgotten. I knew that my grief needs ‘space’ and time to unfold. And still the question remained: How does it happen?

At our lowest point in our lives, we are faced with the greatest challenge of all: How to learn to live a meaningful life again?

When a child of ours dies we had no choice about the ‘event’ and about the grief we felt engulfing us immediately. We might have felt controlled by our grief. Within the first couple of years into grief, in our search for answers, we usually find all the ‘proof’ needed to affirm an existing belief we have about life and death, or to develop a new one. But whether we believe in the survival of the soul or that death is the end of all life, of all energy, we nevertheless, do not detach ourselves from our children.

Then, we could not detach ourselves from our grieving self. But, as time passes since our child’s death, we notice a change: As we readjust to life, we re-gain a new mastery on life. We engulf grief; we integrate it into daily living. We realize now that we have a choice of keeping our experience/ our memories of the ‘event’ - at any degree of closeness, attachment, or distance, detachment that we need or can bear at the moment. We can choose now when to turn ourselves in, and when to turn ourselves out/away. We know already that even when we allow ourselves to hit bottom, that we will somehow surface to catch our breath - that we will survive. The worst already happened.

When our grief is acute, we may experience great paradox: At the same time that we felt disassociated with life we were also most connected to life. Think of how acutely sensitive you were to sounds, sights, smells, and touch. How sharply you might have remembered everything that was connected to your child’s death but nothing that happened to you at the time.

It may feel as if grief causes us to be scattered, absent minded, but in fact, grief forces us to focus and preserve energy for what is truly important, or even crucial for our survival. It may seem as if we are more distracted, while in fact, we are more focused on what is relevant to our survival at the moment. We may appear forgetful, but we do remember only what is important to us now. It is as if we shifted events or people from the center of our visual field to our peripheral vision. We are still paying attention to those in our peripheral field, but less than to those at the center.

It is our intelligence, our creativity, our faith, our trust in ourselves and in others, our ability and willingness to accept a helping hand, our acknowledgment of our vulnerability, and our openness to the suffering of others around us, that will enable us, ultimately, to discover ways of reconstruction of new meaning in our lives.

Some will interpret information presented to them as ‘signs and signals’ thus uncover new meaning; others will pay attention to dreams and will derive strength from repeated themes. Others yet, will discover new pathways by re-defining new missions and re-directing their lives accordingly. The result of this search for new meaning may be in volunteering to help others in pain, in expanding or changing professional interests. I redirected my career to the exclusive study and treatment of the bereaved. Some find new meaning in acts of commemoration of their children. I have been doing that too. It is as if we have made a choice to respond to a higher calling.

When we realize that Grief is not an external entity engulfing us, but rather an integral part of our self - we are relieved - not imprisoned by our grief any longer. This is not to say that we detach ourselves from our children. We, as parents, remain attached to our children whether living or dead. The sense of relief comes from our new ability to detach ourselves, temporarily, from the memory of the event of death - in order to catch our breath, to continue grieving, to make space to emotions additional to Deep Sadness. Grief is only one type of connection to our deceased children, a connection we don’t want nor can we lose. Our grieving self, just like our loving self, constantly challenges us to grow, to expand, and to enlighten.

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For more articles on coping with grief visit Dr. Shanun-Klein’s Grief Notes at Gili’s Place.

Henya Shanun-Klein, Ph.D., formerly Kagan (Klein),  is a bereaved mother, psychologist, author, and speaker. You can learn more about Henya at Gili’s Place, her site honoring her daughter Gili . Her book Gili’s Book: A Journey Into Bereavement for Parents and Counselors can be purchased through amazon.com

Copyright (c) 2000 Henya Shanun-Klein

A Spiritual Journey

A wise person once said that ‘grieving is not the same as loving.’ And I believe that once we truly understand and accept that, we can begin to heal. (John Pete, GC-C)

I was recently asked what I believed the difference was between spirituality and religion. I view religion as a set of beliefs grounded in traditions that can be learned and practiced. And I view spirituality as the internal force that connects our ability to feel with our ability to reason, and which often drives us to explore our existence and purpose.

Death is a part of our journey, and grief is how we cope. There is no easy way around grief, nor should there be because without it we would likely be unable to slowly heal our emotional wounds. So, while it is often a long and difficult journey, it is very necessary in order to slowly accept and adjust to what happened; and then find ways to adjust our lives in the absence of a loved one with then knowledge that death will come to us all one day.

There are things about grief that we can and cannot control, and it helps to understand the difference in order to respond in a manner than promotes personal healing. For example, I cannot turn my pain on and off, and I cannot easily fill the empty void that has been created in my life and my heart. I can, however, help myself to understand what has occurred by reading about similar losses and grief; by talking about my loss and how it has affected my life; and by sharing my journey with others who are willing to invest themselves and be supportive without judging what I am going though.

We do have choices when confronted with grief - choices that can give us back some much-needed control in our lives. The only way grief eventually diminishes is to journey through, and with that in mind we can choose to be a proactive part of our healing. How we mark the miles of our personal journey with grief is a series of choices that all of us make along the way, and affects the outcome.

My first experiences with loss brought me confusion, anger and a ‘need’ to linger in my pain, in a misguided attempt to keep a living connection to my loved ones. Admittedly this does not seem like the most desirable response to a loss, but it was a part of my own journey and how I worked through my pain and learned from my losses (and still do). Along the way I learned that in order to find peace and healing, I had to allow my connection to my loved one to evolve into something else; a new way to remember loved ones. It did not mean letting go of my loved ones or my love for them, it meant letting go of the living connection to them. A wise person once said that ‘grieving is not the same as loving.’ And I believe that once we understand and accept that, we can truly begin to heal.

Grief is a spiritual journey that will come to most of us in our lifetime. I strive to let my journey make me a better and more learned and understanding person. And that is irrefutably a road worth traveling.

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John Pete, GC-C, is Founder of http://www.MyGriefSpace.Net