years four and five, you will learn that yes, life has been a living nightmare, and it is okay to admit that. Realize that as the years pass, you will learn to weave your loss into your daily life. Accepting the loss of a loved one is to release, but not erase. To hold. But not to hold the pain. As year five turns towards eight, my hope is that you can slowly wrap yourself around the idea that you can celebrate life and celebrate death. Death and gratitude can go hand in hand. Just possibly, it is those who have passed before us who are our greatest teachers. Remember always that you never walk alone because the life of someone who passes lives on in the love you shared.

~Caroline Flohr www. HeavensChild.com

Moving Through The Grief Of Losing a Child

I was a woman like many others; focused on my five children and family, living a quiet life on Bainbridge Island in the state of Washington. And then, in August 2004, our lives changed. That night, eight teenagers piled into an SUV and took a midnight joyride. My 16-year-old twin daughter, Sarah, was killed. The thought of losing a child--if “losing” is the correct verb--had never crossed my mind. Tragedies, as such, were something that happened to someone else, something you read about in the paper or heard from a neighbor. Nothing could have prepared me for the deep pain...but nothing could have prepared me for the peace that now permeates my mind and heart. The shock sets in; everything moves in slow motion as if time comes to a halt, and time has halted. An acquaintance delivers a candle on day six with a card inscribed, “Place this candle in your kitchen. Each night while you prepare the family meal know that the shimmering of the candlelight reflects the child who now lives within you.” A lovely thought. Eight years later, I still light a candle on my kitchen windowsill. My child lives within me now. The days turn to weeks. Friends surround you, keeping you busy, your mind occupied. Absorb their kindness. Accept their help. Eliminate expectations. Learn to be gentle with yourself. Give yourself space. Make room for quiet. Always remember that grief is personal, as is death. There is no right way or wrong way to grieve. Seek out therapy. You may be ready. Share your story and connect with others. Surround yourself with those who will listen, not necessarily those who will offer advice. For it is when others listen that we can sort out our thoughts and settle our mind. Your inner strength seeks you out, sometimes sooner in the process, sometimes later. That strength moves you forward--tiny steps in this process. Let the memories fill your mind. Let yourself laugh again. Smile. Sing out when a favorite song you shared plays on the radio. Let your heart awaken to the joys memories bring. Pay attention to the synchronicity and patterns in your life. Pay attention to your intuition. And pray. It doesn’t matter what you believe. Just ask, notice, and respond. Faith, hope and love all intersect. Maybe things will begin to make a little sense, just maybe. Look to your children who live. Note their resilience and strength during this epic period of trauma. Let their sense of life and hope inspire you. When the pain returns, and it will, allow yourself to go to the depths of that pain. Cry. I promise, you will be okay when you resurface. And as you move towards

Heaven's Child Heaven’s Child is a riveting memoir

of heartbreak, healing, and redemption by first-time author

Caroline Flohr.

As a recently divorced single parent, Caroline and her three young children boarded the ferry on the Seattle side

of Puget Sound for a fresh start on tranquil Bainbridge Island. And, while five-year-old Christopher quickly embraced the new adventure, eleven-year-old twins, Caiti and Sarah, remained trapped in a quicksand of rage and resentment. Though hurt and disappointed, Caroline was optimistic that the girls’ pain and confusion would pass. But, after four years, when she remarried and was expecting her fourth child, the situation reached a boiling point that tore the family apart and sent the girls to live with relatives. When, at last, they came back together and the twins were days away from starting their junior year of high school, Sarah and seven other teens went for a midnight joy ride that ended her life, shattered her twin sister, and brought strife and discord to a formerly quiet and complacent community. From the dreaded early-morning knock at the front door through the five challenging years that followed, Caroline struggled through the devastation of grief to ultimately find joy in the gratitude of loving. She explores death, not as an end, but as a beginning, and recognizes that those we think we have lost are never far away. She celebrates the courage of the many, many families who face adversity every day and live on to build stronger, happier lives than they would ever have imagined. Heaven’s Child is, in the deepest sense, a story about life – an unforgettable testament to the enduring strength of family and the power of love and faith to heal the heart. Heaven’s Child is now available to check out from our very own TCF, Santa Clarita library!

Meeting Topics & Info March 7 - Transitions/Rejoining Life April 4 - Dealing with “Guilt” UP-Date: At our last meeting in February we held our annual movie night, where we shared a short video, or flash drive of pictures of our children. We had over 25 members attend this year. What an emotional, yet healing night! We learned so much about each others children! Thank you Jon Chaitt for helping and the use of your technology equipment.

Welcome New Members Attending your first meeting takes courage and it is always hard to say “welcome” because we are so very sorry for the reason which made you eligible for our membership in TCF. However, we are glad you found us! We cannot take away your pain but we can offer our friendship and support, Do try and to attend at least 3 meetings so you have a chance to meet others who are bereaved and discover that special acceptance that occurs with new friends who truly understand. New to our chapter is: Jerry Blackburn, father of Chad

The Compassionate

Friends Credo

We need not walk alone... we are

The Compassionate Friends. We reach out to each other with love, with understanding and with hope. Our children have died at all ages and from many different causes, but our love for our children unites us. Your pain becomes my pain, just as your hope becomes my hope. We come together from all walks of life, from many different circumstances. We are a unique family because we represent many different races and creeds. We are young and we are old. Some of us are far along in our grief, others still feel a grief so fresh and so intensely painful that we feel helpless and see no hope. Some of us are angry, filled with guilt, or in deep depression. Others radiate an inner peace. Whatever pain we bring to this gathering of The Compassionate Friends, it is pain we will share just as we share with each other our love for our children. We are all seeking and struggling to build a future for ourselves, but we are committed to building that future together as we reach out to each other in love and share the pain as well as the joy, share the anger as well as the peace, share the faith as well as the doubts, and help each other to grieve as well as to grow. We need not walk alone....we are

The Compassionate Friends.

Getting Better

My tears feel warm on my cheeks now…not burning hot.

Is this a sign I’m "Getting Better?" When I cry now I am most often alone – in the car, or

the shower, or sometimes taking a walk. I do not cry in public or feel as much panic…

Is this a sign I’m "Getting Better?" I sleep the night through sometimes…and awaken

without tears…for a while… They come now while I’m brushing my teeth…or

making coffee… And always gone before I say "Good Morning"

Is this a sign I’m "Getting Better?" I am able to hug again…

And laugh and read and eat… Is this a sign I’m "Getting Better?"

Yes, I think so… but when does the pain end? Perhaps when I no longer ask

Is this a sign I’m "Getting Better?"

-Shirley Blakely Curle TCF, Little Rock, AR

Easter

The Easter and Passover seasons are upon us. They are special family times that make it

more obvious that our child is missing. Some parents are struggling with WHAT they believe anymore. The pretty new dressers and hats don’t seem to matter as much as they once did. There are more important things on our minds now. We are facing the renewal of life all around us—and yet our missing child’s life is not renewable. We hurt because life is going on and our child’s is not. These are normal reactions for some, when grief is fresh, for the changing of seasons is a poignant time for many. Those of us who have had the necessary time, wish to convey to those who have not, that it won’t always be this painful. When your grief softens; and it will; so will many of the hurtful responses. Get out in the sunshine—go for a walk—smell the fragrance of the flowers; and allow the warmth and beauty of the season to penetrate your being. It just may make your day a little lighter.

~Mary Cleckley TCF, Atlanta, Georgia

The Color of Grief "Color doesn't occur in the world," Diane Ackerman tells us, "but in the mind." Colors are brightest when we are in love or feel joy or happiness. If we are depressed or grieving, we see the world in black and white or shades of gray. One widow friend said she knew she was on the road to recovery when the first thing she noticed one morning was a bright red rose outside her window. Colors affect our emotions. Certain colors even stimulate our appetites, and that's why restaurants are often painted in shades of red or orange. The color red has also been proven to make us physically stronger. Green or blue are soothing colors; pink is thought to be nurturing. Black, the color we most readily associate with grief, is the color that is hardest to find in its purest form. Black is not really a color, but a combination of many colors. Black is a winter color because it best absorbs heat from the sun. I like to think that black also absorbs the caring feelings of others. Perhaps this is why we wear it at funerals and when we're feeling depressed or vulnerable. Sometimes, though, black can be a sad reminder that all is not right with our world. So why, then, do we surround ourselves in black when we grieve? Is it because the rainbow of colors that make up the color black best expresses the many emotions we feel? The anger? The sadness? The loneliness? Or is it because we seek to protect ourselves from what suddenly seems like a hostile world, much like Mother Nature uses black as camouflage to protect wildlife? Do we wear black to express our emotions or is it a cry for help? Does black protect and warm us, or do we use it as a shield? Look around. How bright are the colors in your world? Has the time come to don the colors of love and happiness; to surround ourselves with colors that celebrate the lasting gifts our loved ones left us? Paint your nails a bold red - as a reminder of your fortitude. Snuggle up in a baby blanket pink. Buy a yellow rose, a symbol of courage. Take a walk on lush green grass. Treat yourself to a box of crayons and invite a child to help you break them in. Wear your loved one's favorite color. Wear the color you think best represents recovery and hope. Shed the mantle of grief, and you'll find a world of rainbows waiting for you.

~Margaret Brownly reprinted with permission from

Bereavement Magazine Lovingly Lifted from South Suburban Chapter

August 2009, Vol IX, #8 Newsletter

Along the Road

I walked a mile with pleasure;

She chattered all the way, But left me none the wiser

For all she had to say

I walked a mile with sorrow And ne’er a word said she;

But oh, the things I learned from her When sorrow walked with me!

~Robert Browning Hamilton

Was Received From:

Heather Decker

In Loving Memory of her son:

Ryan Santilli 10/21 – 8/31

STAR-LIT NIGHT Star-light, Star-bright - Oh, how I wish tonight…

Oh, the joy, the bliss of our children so loved, Now they sparkle in heaven with the stars above Their legend lives on with charm and with grace, As they shine down on us from their heavenly place. Some nights are so dark when our hearts fill with pain, Then we think that we can never be a happy again. For how can we live on with this pain that we feel? Since our children died, life now seems so unreal. We hear all the sounds on earth below - But our senses are numb because we still miss them so. Our hearts are so heavy - our minds cry out, Why? The children we love and miss - now reside in the sky. The stars, like our children, shine down with promises of love, Their glory sometimes hidden by the clouds above. But, we know they are still there even though we can’t see. Because their brightness shines on inside you and me. Now, the stars beckon to us as they twinkle above, Our children singing messages of hope and of love. They are cradled high above us twinkling so bright, Shining down beams of hope with the STAR-LIT NIGHT.

~Faye McCord, TCF/Jackson, MS In honor of All Beavered Parents And in loving memory of my son.

Love GiftsLove GiftsLove GiftsLove Gifts A Love Gift is a wonderful way to remember your child, grandchild, or sibling’s birthday or angel dates. What better way than to have their photo included in our newsletter along with a special memory, thought or message, article or poem from you. If anyone would like to make a donation in memory of their child, grandchild, or sibling you may give it to Alice or Diane at our meeting or mail it to Alice at 27949 Park Meadow Dr., Canyon Country, 91387. You can also email the info to foreverangels@sbcglobal.net. Love gifts should be received by the 15th of the month to be placed in the following month’s newsletter. What a special way to share and remember your loved one! Our chapter exists solely on voluntary, tax deductible donations. We thank you in advance for any donations you may be able to give or send. Your donations help to pay the expenses of our newsletter, purchase books & brochures, coffee & refreshments, new member’s packets, business cards, and other miscellaneous supplies.