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I was disappointed a few weeks ago when TEDx St. Albert was cancelled.  I have always wanted to do a TED talk.  I have been inspired by many TED talks in so many different ways.  I was hoping that perhaps my talk could help inspire someone else the way that TED has inspired me.  Sadly I won’t get that chance yet.   So when I was given the chance to talk at Pecha Kucha St. Albert on November 15th, I jumped at it.  It is a drastically different speaking format and a challenging one for even the best public speakers.

Talking about grief is difficult at the best of times.  It is hard to balance the darkness of loss and the inspiration and hope hidden in that darkness all at the same time.  As with any good Social Worker, I don’t really feel that I am an expert.  I believe that the people that have privileged me with their stories are the experts.  I am, like everyone else in the school of life, merely a student.   So I have struggled with this talk.  How do I share the lessons I have learned in a way that honours the journey I have taken with my clients and is meaningful to those that will hear me speak?  My conclusion was simple, to ask the experts.

I asked everyone I know, and many I don’t this questio, “What has grief taught you?” Many of the answers have been simple,  others inspirational,  and others very sad.  They are answers filled with desperation, longing, and despair but mostly they are answers filled with compassion, connection and hope.  I will use these to help me build the framework of my talk.

I would love to hear from you as well.   What has grief taught you?

At this time of year many of us spend time with family and friends to give thanks for our many blessings.  I don’t want to bore you with a diatribe of the gifts in my life.  At this point I am well aware of how lucky I am for the life that I have.  The gift of the work that I do is that I am also painfully aware of how fragile that sense of peaceful contentment can be.

Holidays such as Thanksgiving can shake the emotional foundation of anyone who has suffered a loss.  It can cause grievers to re-experience the hole that a loved one left, or cause an addict to come publicly face-to-face with their addiction.   It can highlight the complications a divorce can have on children and it can force people to grit and bare another meal with their toxic family.   So while there are many things to be thankful for in my life, these times of year also remind me that holidays are not always the easiest time for many of us.

I am reminded of a story told to me many years ago from a survivor that lost her daughter to suicide.  Years after her daughter’s death she told me of one of her family’s holiday traditions.  Her family would sit around the table and reminisce about silly things that their children did when they were little.  Most years it was the same stories recycled from year to year.  Everyone knew what Grandpa would say and some would even join in on some of the punch lines which would only escalate the hilarity that ensued.  She told me about how after her daughter died this stopped for a while.  She thinks that it was awkward and painful for all at the table.

So for years she missed the stories and the embarrassed faces of the grown children.  You can imagine her joy when the tradition started up again.  She loved hearing the family fables.  She felt that her family was once again grounded in the present rather than grieving the past.  That is until she felt it was her turn to share a story about one of her daughter’s misadventures.

As she spoke of the silly story, instead of the regular laughter the room fell silent.  Even though she was ready to reintroduce her daughter’s life back into the room, others were still struggling with her daughter’s death.  She was proud of many of the things her daughter accomplished in her short life and didn’t want to lose those things when she lost her daughter’s life.  She described to me how important it was for her to share not just the sadness of her grief but to also share the memories of her daughter’s life.  She wanted to stay connected to her daughter by sharing a bit of her with others that also loved them both.

So this Thanksgiving I hope that you can be thankful for what you have, honour what you may have lost and make room for all of it around your dining room table.  Laugh, love, cry and be gentle with each other.

I was young and what I lacked in experience I made up for  in totally unearned confidence.  I knew I wanted to help people for a living and I was sure I was going to be great at it.  In order to grace the world with my innate mystical ability to heal,  I decided to volunteer on the Distress Line in Edmonton.

I went through their intense training program.  It was 54 hours of role plays and instruction on how to be a crisis volunteer.   To this day it still forms the foundation of my practice with people, more so than any of the courses and degrees I have gotten since.

After all the instruction I was ready to take my first call.  I was surprisingly nervous.  You never know what is going to be happening or who you will be talking to when you pick up the phone.   My trainers said I was ready but in those moments before the phone rang for the first time, my inflated confidence deflated.  I had no idea what I was doing.

When the phone finally rang, I was ready to make a run for it.

Ring-ring!

Someone else that knew what they were doing could take this one.

Ring-ring!

But all the other volunteers were busy.  It dawned on me that the person calling the crisis line might really need to talk to someone and I was the only one here.

Ring-ring!

Well crap! I took a deep breath and decided to fake courage.  I picked up the phone.

“Hello, is this Crosstown motors?”  Wrong number.   I can’t even begin to tell you how relieved I was until the phone rang again.

I picked it up this time immediately.  What I heard on the other end was a gentle sob.  My fears, and my anxiety didn’t matter anymore.  What mattered was this woman that was so sad that she was without words.  The advice of my trainers started coming back to me.

“Take your time,”  I said and I just sat there.  When she finally found her voice she told me a story about how her husband died.  She told me of their fight and her relief when he finally left.  She told me of how she was boiling a pot of water for a cup of tea when she heard the gunshot.  She told me of what it was like standing at the front door of her house knowing in her heart that when she opened the door her life would change. Then she told me about the flashes of people that paraded in and out of her house for the following weeks two weeks.  Police, family, funeral directors, neighbors.

I listened to her.  What the hell could I say to this woman?  I was in my idyllic twenties with virtually no real life experience with this stuff.  The only thing I could think to do was to listen.

At the end of the call she thanked me.  She thanked me.  I couldn’t believe my ears.  She showed such courage, vulnerability, and trust.  In that one phone call she showed me that I could do this, that I could listen and learn from the people that privileged me with their stories.

She did this by showing me that it wasn’t about me, about my skills, or about my inflated ego.  It was about her.

At the end of the phone call she taught me about hope.  Her gratefulness over the fact that I was willing to listen was inspiring.  She spoke of the faith she had that somehow would get through this. It showed me that hope is infallible.  It hides in the darkest corners.

I wish I could thank her for the gift that she gave me.

 

**Please keep in mind that the spirit of the story is true but the details are not. **

Every year like clockwork on September 11th I get a message.  They started as notes of thanks.  This year it was a simple “thinking of you”.  As the years go by there isn’t much need for anything more.  I know what she means.  I know what she is saying in her simple words.

On that disastrous day, I remember clearly waking up the morning not yet realizing the world had changed.  I was laying in bed and the alarm clock went off and as usual my then boyfriend (now husband) was hitting the snooze button when he sat up straight.  We went downstairs and were glued to CNN for hours.  Watching the towers fall again and again.

For those of us alive and old enough to understand, the stories of September 11th are familiar.  We all remember in great detail where we were and what we were doing when the towers fell.  At that moment somewhere over the North American sky an airplane was being rerouted in my direction.

I was 19 when I first met Jennie.  She was dating my brother and they lived together for years.   Despite our 12 year age difference she always treated me like I was a mature equal, even when my brother didn’t. For a girl that grew up with two older brothers, Jennie was the closest thing to an older sister that I had at that point in my life.  I was with them when they moved in together.  Jennie came to my first wedding.  My brother flew me down to be with them when my young marriage fell apart.  So you see she was a part of our family and a part of my life through some painful transitions. We all loved her.

For reasons better left between my brother and Jennie, it didn’t work out.  They split up and we understandably didn’t hear from Jennie for a while. When couples separate there is always collateral damage.  I already knew this from my own divorce.  It is a painful unfortunate reality.  My relationship with Jennie changed.   I was okay with it.  I assume that they made that choice for good reasons that had nothing to do with me.  I was saddened that I wouldn’t get a chance to say good bye.

Believe it or not I got that chance on September 11th.  Jennie is British.  She was flying back to Los Angeles after a visit with her family in England.  She was one of the unfortunate souls that had their planes grounded when the terrorists forced the closure of American airspace.  By complete serendipity her plane landed in Edmonton.  Thankfully she was bold enough to call my parents and ask for a place to stay.  My parents were happy to oblige.

It was a gift for my parents to see her again.  It was a gift for me to get the opportunity to talk to her, acknowledge her role in my life and for her to see me happy and healthy.  And I think it was a gift for her to have familiar people to share the terrifying, intense and chaotic experinece with.

We have all grown and changed since that time.  My brother is married to a wonderful woman that I am proud to call my sister in law.  They have two kids.  Jennie has a husband and son.  I am married with kids of my own.  I can only hope that we are all happy.  I know I am.   But every September 11th I get a message that reminds me of her, reminds me of a younger version of myself and reminds me that even in the terror of that day, there are stories of wonder and hope.

 

I was in an accident about 6 months ago.  I was rear ended on a pretty snowy morning.  I had no idea that I was injured.  Not for a few days anyway.  Not until a few days later when my stiffness progressed to not being able to move my neck and numbness in my fingers.  I chose to go to a chiropractor.  Mostly because I know of a good one and he was able to get me in much faster than anyone else.  For the first four months I saw him twice a week.  He was kind, but also kicked my butt on a regular basis for not taking care of myself the way I should.  I was afterall “injured”.

As the months progressed, I got much better but in the past few months I am still stiff and we haven’t gotten anywhere.  Our last session, my Chiropractor gave me the “talk”.  He told me that in order to progress any further I was going to have to get back to exercising, do a better job stretching and work out.  I mean who is he kidding.  I don’t have time for that.  I am a busy woman.  I am teaching soon.  I am setting up my own private practice and I work part time.  I also have two small children to watch and a house to clean.

Later in the day when I was talking to a client.  I was having the same talk with them.  “You need to prioritize your health,” I said to my client.  “You are worth it”.

OK Henry, I get it.

Today my husband sent me this article from the Calgary Herald on the death of a young boy named Noah.

I was touched by this man’s courage and desire to do something by telling this boy’s story.  Before I was a parent, I worked as a Suicide Prevention worker for a great many years and I worked with many families that lost loved ones to suicide.  I know from these expereinces how devistating suicide can be.   Now that I am a parent my heart breaks when I read or hear stories like this in a whole new way.  It breaks for Noah, it breaks for his family and it breaks for Noah’s friends that will struggle to make sense of a sensless choice.  The isolation Noah felt was too much for him to bear.  While I hate the choice he made, we have no choice but to live with it.  My heart also breaks because after 18 years working in the field, the suicide rates in Alberta have not changed.  If we as a society wanted it enough we could do something about it.

The worst part of a suicide is how the hurt and pain that Noah felt gets passed to all those that loved him.  They are now more at risk of suicide too.  Shame thrives in these depths.  Shame grows in the cold and lonely places in our hearts.  It isolates us from those we love and those that could help us.  Until we are able to talk openly and honestly about suicide it will continue to reach into the lives of those around us.  I hope Noah’s parents are not ashamed of him or what he did with his life.  I am positive he was more than the final desperate decision he made.

If you are thinking of suicide or are worried about someone who is, don’t let shame take control.  If you need help now, get help now.  In Edmonton call the Distress Line.   780-482-HELP.   There are people that care and want to listen.   If you can, find a therapist that can help you through it.  You are worth it.

One of my favourite things to do in the world is to talk in front of people.  I know this makes me strange and part of the rare few in the world that aren’t terrified to death of public speaking.  When I was in University I had no idea what I wanted to do in my life.  I knew I wanted to help people but I had no idea how.  I was a wandering Psychology student that felt like I wasn’t going anywhere.  Then in one of my classes a Speaker from The Support Network came in to talk about Suicide Awareness.  Does that make me sound strange?  I walked up to her and asked her how I could get her job.  She connected me to The Support Network which almost 20 years later is still one of my favorite agencies. I have learned more from that agency and the clients I worked with there than in any of my degrees.  I volunteered at The Support Network and eventually got the job in Public Education running their Suicide Prevention Inservices and Training programs.  It is at The Support Network that I got hooked on Public Speaking.

Since that time I have presented at innumerable workshops, conferences and I am now lucky enough to teach at the University of Calgary and Grant MacEwan as a Sessional Instructor.  All of these experiences have been wonderful but I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am by my next presentation.  I will be presenting at TEDx St. Albert on September 15, 2012.  This is truly a dream come true.   Anyone that knows me or has taken any of my courses will know that I am a huge fan of TED.

Funny… I suddenly realized I am incredibly terrified of public speaking.  Let’s hope it passes.