I am acutely aware that autumn is here. As I write this, the air coming through my window is crisper and the leaves are taking on the golden and scarlet hues of the season. The shorts and tee shirts, which were the summer mainstay of the neighborhood children, are being replaced by sweats and flannels. Pumpkins are replacing lawn ornaments. The beauty of nature is at its most spectacular. It is unmistakably here, welcome or not…
This will be my fifth autumn without my daughter Nina. I find that I am far enough along in my grief to find memories to smile about now, but still close enough to remember those first few years and the piercing stab of pain in my heart that went along with them. Halloween, with memories of the costume party she threw when she was 10 years old; the major production she made out of what she would wear as a trick-or-treater, and as she got older, her enjoyment in passing out candy to neighborhood goblins. Then came Thanksgiving, one of my favorites. I liked the idea of family and friends gathering together with no other purpose other than eating until you were stuffed and being thankful for each other and the blessings of the past year. No presents required, just the joy of family togetherness – and the knowledge that my children were here…all of them. On that first Thanksgiving after my beautiful daughter died, the empty chair and place at the table seemed to scream out at me that someone precious was missing. And the message of this holiday was thankfulness? What would I ever again find to be thankful for?
Some TCF parents remember being unable to eat even a bite because they were continually trying to choke back tears that first Thanksgiving. Just wanting to curl up in a ball, pull the covers over their heads, and wake up some time in January after the last remnants of the holidays were cleared away. In all honesty, I cannot tell you even one detail of that first one: where I spent it, who was present, where I was, if I cried all day. I remember nothing.
However, I do remember three months after Nina had died, though. On a visit to my neurologist I tearfully told him of my depression over her death. His response to me was “Why don’t you count your blessings rather than your sorrows? Think happy thoughts and maybe you won’t feel so sad.” I, of course, asked him if he had ever lost a child. He had not…obviously. Only someone uneducated in the school of grief would say something so impossible to accomplish!
Almost five Thanksgiving’s later, have I found reasons to be thankful? I asked myself this question and decided to put pen to paper. I was surprised to say the list was quite lengthy, but I will only share a few of them. I am thankful for:
I have found a measure of peace and see some of the light at the end of the tunnel that we are all so desperately seeking. I know that I will always love and miss my Nina and will never forget her. That when the holidays return each year, there will still be the twinge of pain in my heart that she is not there with our family. Yet, I have learned, over time, that there is joy to be found again, and the grief I feel for the loss of Nina can and does coexist with that joy. You will each find it again in your own time; maybe not this Thanksgiving or next, but it will come. It really will…
Cathy Seehuetter
TCF ST. Paul, MN
In memory of my daughter, Nina
Written October 2000
Revised October 2018
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This season of “Holidays” upon us is actually becoming the worst yet. On the 24th of December it will be 25 years since we buried our beautiful 8 year old daughter. We have not enjoyed the Christmas season at all since. Now we are older, suffering from our own age related illness, unable to retire to a warmer climate because of financial stressors. We have learned to stay away from family and friends because they really can’t get it and there is nothing more that we can do to educate them. If you mention the unpleasant effects it has had on your ability to enjoy the holidays someone is bound to make a inhumane comment.
I am so sorry that you are reliving this grief again with the loss of your son. I hope that You are able to find some days where the light shines and the pain disapaits. 💙
My son was killed in 2012 in a car accident. He fell asleep at the wheel. I have so much anger about that. So many what ifs and whys. I should have not let him get up and drive. he was sick that morning and didnt get sleep the night before. Sooo much anger and regret
I am so very sorry for your loss, have you written about your son?
Thank you for posting. I lost my son in 2012 in a car accident. I am finally (hopefully i am) getting a grip and trying to put my life back together. It will be a completely different life, but it took me 6 years to take a little baby step to try to pick up the pieces. I knew i had to do it for my other children. I dont know. Wasnt fair for them to lose their brother and me also. I will never be who i was before but i will try my best to make my son Adam proud of me. I love you my son forever and always and I will see you again.
Your story is so beautiful and yet so sad. But it gave me hope this holiday season. It will be my second without my oldest son, Monte. I lost him November 4, 2017 and though it has gotten somewhat easier I am still struggling. Reading your words gave me hope that some day….
My new TCF friends were always there, for a hug, to just listen and let me talk about Darren, to laugh or cry. Time does heal, but it’s been the support, love and empathy from my friends at The Compassionate Friends, that got me through the first two most difficult years. It’s now been rs and I still feel loved, supported and understood by the people who unfortunately suffered like me. Knowing each other gave us strength and the courage to find a life again.
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