For over a year now, I’ve planned to start some form of support group for bereaved parents in my area. Initially, I thought I’d try to start a local church-based group. I went through that program, starting about two months after Cooper died, and it was mostly helpful. I’m aware, though, that the label Bible-based or church-based will discourage some who could benefit from a community of support. I’m confident in my faith, but I would never want to push someone away with that faith. Jesus would not be cool with pushing people away. No, a secular group seems like a better idea. As Christians, we should be leading by example. The same love and support we could share in a church-based group can be shared in any group.
So, I’m planning to start a local chapter of The Compassionate Friends (TCF). We might meet in a church, but the program isn’t affiliated with a church. Another reason for choosing TCF is that it’s specifically for child loss.
I have to be 18 months out from my loss—Cooper’s death—before I can fill out the paperwork to begin the process, but I’m starting to plan, to gauge interest, to find a home for the group. Next month will be my 18-month mark (HOW???), and I want to be ready.
Cooper’s last months and every day since his suicide carry the stain of this pandemic. Nothing was “normal” when he died, and that lack of normalcy carried over to finding support. Six days after he died, and two days after his celebration, I found TCF on Facebook and joined the main group. Then I found loss-specific groups—loss of an adult child, loss to suicide, loss to mental illness—and joined those. At the time, they were my only option. In-person groups were shut down; many still are. Even if in-person groups had been an option, the nearest group was over 50 miles away. The two Facebook TCF groups I really follow, the adult child and suicide groups, have helped. Someone is always online, and the people there understand. The reason someone is always online? The membership for these groups is 21,000+ and 5,000+, respectively. Each day, a dozen or more new members join.
The numbers are overwhelming.
I’m fortunate to have real-life, living, breathing, hugging, crying, hugging some more, compassionate friends. Not a formal group, but my own bespoke support group. Even more than the online TCF groups, those friends have helped me through. Many—but not all—are bereaved parents themselves. Because of the nature of TCF, these bereaved parents are my focus tonight. They’ve lived with this world-shattering grief for years. Some, for decades. They show me it’s possible, even on days that are unbearable. They, too, have unbearable days; I am not alone in these feelings, and I will survive. For the past 72 weeks, they’ve been a steady light in a dark world.
That supportive community—the acceptance and understanding, the emotional hug and quiet assurance—that’s what I want to offer to other parents. There’s relief in knowing someone else understands the lost future, stolen dreams, haunting dreams, and devastation of child loss. There’s comfort in the honesty of shared stories, even if the stories are confirmation that yes, year two can be harder than year one and no, you don’t get over it but you will eventually be able to talk about them without breaking down. And to see their tears, 3 or 4 years, 6 or 8 years, 18 or 20, 25 or 29 years into an unrequested life, validates my own tears and ongoing heartache when the world sees 12 months as a line of demarcation.
We need each other.
I have no special skill, talent, or training, but I know what it’s like to feel thoroughly adrift and I know the difference support has made for me. So, I’m going to channel John Wesley. I’m going to try to do all the good I can, by all the means I can, in all the ways I can, in all the places I can, at all the times I can, to all the people I can, as long as ever I can.
Support is good. Compassion is good. This group can be good. Join me if you’d like.
Woods Writes 