The life and times of a little hippie in the Bersagel-Briese clan.
Ever look into the clouds? Well, I found a way to do a cloud with the blog (in Helvetica no less)….and below are the results of the first word cloud that has been generated through the postings on this site. I have stared and tried to figure it out, but mostly it’s just a reaction of ‘yup, seems about right.’
We explored a few more topics over the last few weeks of the nine week session, none more timely or charged than the holidays. The holidays have taken on a whole new dimension this year, and there are several reasons for that….but unfortunately, I’m not going into them here. It turns out that these feelings and thoughts are too close to the vest to openly explore with everyone – maybe in the future sometime. What I am willing to share is that the holidays are a really difficult time for us. For one, we are missing Liam. It’s hard to see all of this unabashed cheer and thankfulness without crashing back quickly to reality. It’s not that we don’t have things to be thankful for or happy about, but; well I don’t need to explain it to you. As the weather has turned colder, the memories of last year at this time are hard and fast. I think that the combination of the season and the time of year have made it especially hard right now.
The group is done. We have had nine weeks of amazing conversation, and incredible sharing. We will have a reunion in January, and we will stay in touch with these beautiful people for many years to come. I’m not sure what exactly I got out of the group, beyond weekly introspection, but I feel a little better than when we started. We have made some great new friends, and we have learned about some awesome kids. I will miss the routine and the faces of the meetings, but we have discovered some new avenues to continue this process.
I am going to repost the Bereaved Parents Wish List that we put up here not long after Liam died. It seems relevant again, and applicable as we are slipping into a more turbulent time. If we are being ‘grinches’ this season, you don’t have to fix it, just let us be. If we are being quiet, introspective, or step away…don’t take it personally, it’s cool. We have limits.
This list is adapted from something that the hospital gave us and another parent had put together. It is our hope that you read this and it will hopefully allow you to feel more comfortable around and with us. This is a very difficult time for everyone, and we know that none of us really know what to do or say.
– We wish that Liam hadn’t died. We wish that we had him back.
– We wish that you won’t be afraid to speak Liam’s name. He lived and was very important to us. We need to hear that he was important to you also.
– If we cry and get emotional when you talk about Liam, we wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt us. Liam’s death is the cause of our tears. You have talked about him, and you have allowed us to share in our grief. We thank you for both.
– Being a bereaved parent isn’t contagious, so please don’t shy away from us. We need you now more than ever.
– We need diversions, so we do want to hear about you, your family, and your life. But we also want you to hear about us. We might be sad or cry, but please also let us talk about Liam.
– We know that you think and pray for us often. We also know that Liam’s death pains you, too. We wish you would let us know these things through a phone call, a card, a note, an e-mail, a text, or a real big hug.
– We wish that you won’t expect our grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for us, but we hope that you understand that our grief will never be over. We will suffer the loss of Liam until the day that we die.
– We are working very hard in our recovery, but we wish you could understand that we will never fully recover. We will always miss Liam, and we will always grieve that he is dead.
– We wish that you wouldn’t expect us not to think about it or to be happy. Neither will happen for a very long time, so don’t frustrate yourself.
– We don’t want to have a pity party, but we do wish you would let us grieve. We must hurt before we can heal.
– We wish you understood how our lives have shattered. We know it is miserable for you to be around us when we’re feeling miserable. Please be as patient with us as we are with you.
– When we say we are doing okay, we wish you could understand that we don’t feel okay and that we struggle daily.
– We wish you knew that all of the grief reactions we are having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse us when we are quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.
– Your advice to ‘take one day at a time’ is excellent advice. However, sometimes a day is too much and too fast for us right now. We wish that you could understand that sometimes the best way is a minute or an hour at a time.
– We hope that if you see us out and about that you say hi. We might be smiling or laughing, joking or having a good time – that’s okay to do. Please don’t think that it’s because we are not appropriately grieving.
– Please excuse us if we are rude, it is certainly not our intent. Sometimes the world around us goes by too fast, and we need to get off. When we walk away, please let us find a quiet place to spend some time alone.
– We wish you understood that grief changes people. When Liam died, a big part of us died with him. We are not the same people that we were before Liam died, and we will never be those people again.
– We wish very much that you could understand – understand our loss and our grief, our silence and our tears, our void and our pain. But we pray daily that you will never, ever understand.
Weeks four and five of the parent’s group brought an interesting and surprising metaphor into play: water. The two weeks centered on acknowledging, expressing, and coping with grief; and we spent a fair amount of time trying to understand things that I’m not sure that we were ever meant to understand – at least by historical reference. Now, I don’t mean that in any sort of ‘put-down’ kind of way, it’s just that we have to go do these special places and groups, talk with special people, only to try to begin to scratch the surface of some deep seeded feelings that we are experiencing daily. Why is that the case? Why can’t we be more open with each other, or more understanding of each other? Why are some feelings/topics taboo in education and discussion until they become something that we have to talk about in order to stop from internal detonation? Death is something that every single person will have to face in some fashion in their lives (hopefully in more ‘normal’ ways), and this seems like an extraordinarily reactive measure to something so common. It makes it hard to retrospectively try to grab control of your feelings after they all have been released like buckshot. But this is exactly where we find ourselves: trying to pick up the pieces, trying to make any sense of the future.
“You must learn to run your kayak by a sort of jujitsu. You must learn to tell what the river will do to you, and given those parameters see how you can live with it. You must absorb its force and covert it to your use as best you can. Even with the quickness and agility of a kayak, you are not faster than the river, not stronger, and you can beat it only by understanding it.” – Stung, Curtis, & Perry: Whitewater
One of the ways that we went about exploring how each of us was dealing with the grief in our normal lives was to list out all of our stresses on a chart. Of the 50 or so things listed on the chart, between us, we circled somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 things (!)….stuff like new assignments at work, family stresses, little good sleep, health worries, financial concerns, etc. These are all certainly issues that perhaps you are even facing, but when you compound those with a loss of a child, they all take on a heavier load.
“Men may dam it and say they made a lake, but it will still be a river. It will keep its nature and bide its time, like a caged animal alert for the slightest opening. In time, it will have it’s way; the dam, like the ancient cliffs, will be carried away piecemeal in the currents.” – Wendell Berry
So here we sit, in the middle of a rapid filled river, trying to figure out how to get to calmer water. We spent some time discussing the things that we are going to need on this trip on the river…things like a boat, a paddle, some sort of protection (helmet), a life jacket, a good mind, some food, and some rest. It’s a way of describing the self care that is needed to make it through these times somewhat sane. We did an exercise that asked the question: Who is in the boat with you? and it netted some really surprising results. Actually, probably not that surprising, but more confirming a reality that perhaps I would not have expected if I had to project the results of that question last year. There are people in to boat with us that I certainly didn’t expect to be sitting right there, and there are others who I expected to be in the boat that have long since watched it drift down the river from safe banks. One thing that I am certainly thankful for is the community of folks that surround us. We have heard horror stories of what people/family/friends have said to others in similar situations to us, and we are truly grateful that we have all of you. We have gained and we have lost during this time. We will reconnect with some people, and not with others.
We were given an article, and to be honest, it didn’t strike me as very interesting the first time that I read it (it seems a little embellished or overly dramatic…). I have since revisited it, and have found it’s underlying message to be helpful. Click here for the link to the story: Making music with what we have left.
I’m just going to borrow the posting that I did in 2009 for this anniversary:
December 7, 2008, Tim Abernethy was on duty as a Houston Police Officer. During a ‘routine’ (I hate that word) traffic stop, things turned really ugly and Tim was murdered by the person whose car he pulled over. He lived his life selflessly: serving his country in the Navy, serving his neighbors as a police officer, and serving his family as a father, husband, son, brother, and role model.
Tim: we miss you and promise to never forget your sacrifice. Your life serves as a daily reminder of what we should be doing to better ourselves and how to be better members of our community. We will never, ever forget.
Ok, that’s not entirely true. Kubler-Ross did a lot of great things for the understanding of grief, for example, making it part of the conversation in a way that was understandable to most people. For those of you who don’t know who Kubler-Ross is, a quick introduction: she was a psychiatrist, who in 1969, published a book based on the interviews of hundreds of people titled “On Death And Dying.” See, grief has only been a talked-about part of human psyche for a few decades, and this is largely – if not solely – due to the work of Kubler-Ross. In the book, she introduces the idea of the Stages of Grief (see chart below), and uses them as a way to understand what emotional cycle people experience when they suffer a loss. There is a lot of really good information in what she brings forth, but where she went terribly wrong, was making the stages of grief a linear concept. Even the idea that someone might slip back into the previous stage momentarily prior to moving forward, is a misconception. But it’s what we know. It’s what we understand. It’s easy to understand….unfortunately, grief and emotion are none of those things – there is nothing linear about us.
The week three meeting of the Parent’s Group centered on learning about the grief process. It was the first meeting where we actually started to move in a direction of understanding, instead of the necessary but difficult introductions. Now, let it be known that the meetings are not a lecture or educational platform. Each one has an agenda and direction, but the conversation often moves in different directions depending on the needs of the group on any particular night. And just because the first two weeks are behind us, it doesn’t mean that so are the emotionally challenging moments – for those happen all throughout each and every meeting.
Also, the third week offered Ahna and I something very special: a chance to reunite for the first time since leaving the hospital with someone that was absolutely instrumental to us while we were there. Vanessa is a Chaplain in the hospital, and while we were very fortunate to receive the help and services of that entire department, Vanessa is one person that we connected with the most….one of many extraordinary people that walked with us. Vanessa was our ‘guest facilitator’ for the third week’s meeting, and it was an absolute pleasure to reconnect with her.
During the meeting, we were introduced to something that is an alternate understanding of the stages of grief called the Grief Wheel (see below). The simple design – the idea that it’s never ending, that it’s an alternate trajectory, that there are built-in understandings of slippage between all of the places, and that there is a before and after that are different – really connected with me in a way that the traditional models never have. I would make one modification to the drawing, and instead of it being two-dimensional, I would make it look more like a spiral where the ‘before loss’ and ‘after loss’ parts of life never intersect.
When we look at this, we recognize that there really isn’t a stage to this process. While we would probably associate pretty strongly with one particular part of this wheel, I would also offer that at any given moment on any given day, you could find us in any part of this circle. And even though we may generally be in one area, there are feelings/emotions/descriptions from each other part that we also deal with on a daily basis. I think that we are finding that as time is moving forward, with or without our permission, there are actually aspects of grieving that become harder and more influential. The holidays are upon us (group week seven discussion), and Liam’s birthday is only a few weeks away. I wouldn’t be surprised if this wheel starts spinning a lot faster in the near future.
So, I’m sitting at a computer somewhere one day checking my e-mail (hard to believe isn’t it?) when I get a note from a photographer friend of mine that says that a railroad steam engine is coming through town the following day. While it was going to be coming through, it would make a 15 minute whistle stop on the tracks behind a strip-mall (there aren’t too many places for trains to stop on the tracks these days). Hmm, that sounds moderately interesting from a photography perspective, and I’m sure that Ezra would love it…..so we made plans for the next morning.
As we strolled over to the area that the train was supposed to be stopping, fully expecting to be nearly the only ones there (I mean, if it isn’t on the news or Facebook or Twitter, how does anyone know about these events?), and we were shocked to see about 100 other folks already lined up waiting – and that’s not including the 100+ photographers that were lining the tracks along the frontage road. So, as the crowd and scene developed, so did the anticipation level. We would hear periodic updates about the train’s location, and the kids would get all excited. But I don’t think that any of us (at least those of us that just happened on this) really knew what to expect.
The train rounded the corner and approached the crowd, it was suddenly apparent that this was really freaking cool. The train is a special one that the Union Pacific railroad keeps in Cheyenne, WY. Every once in a while, they bring it out on tour or to special events. This time, the train was headed on a two month long tour of the southwest. As the train got close, the classic noises that trains are supposed to produce – but are absent in all modern diesel rigs – became loud, and I mean really loud. The train came to a stop, the Engineers climbed out, and the crowd narrowed in. It was an extremely cool opportunity to see a working engine like this one up close. There was little restriction about climbing up to and around the train, and the Engineer for the train even got out and spoke to a group of kids that featured Ezra and the kids from our street.
There really is something beautiful about it’s steel/industrial presence. And it takes good pictures too.
Sometimes the biggest challenges are the smallest mountains. Or the smallest mountains are the biggest challenges. I don’t know which way sounds better, but you get the point.
A few months ago, we received an invitation from Children’s Hospital to a support group for parents who have lost children (if I’ve said it a hundred times before, it still pertains: it absolutely sucks to be part of a club like this). The group was open for parents only – no friends, grandparents, siblings, other family, etc – and was going to run for nine consecutive weeks in the mid-fall (ie: now). While there was some initial trepidation, there really wasn’t any true apprehension, as both of us have been seeking ways to help deal with the grief and the range of emotions from this past year. Us, along with seven other couples/individuals responded, and the group was set. Start date, end date, time, child care…set.
But between us and the start of the group, there was a gigantic emotional monster that had to be confronted: the return to the hospital. See, the group would meet in the hospital, near the cafeteria that we ate at for nearly every meal of our two months there. It would be our first time back to that general area, the first time on that road, and the first time in the building since we left without Liam. I think that Ahna was a lot more realistic as to the difficulty that the first meeting would be, and I told myself that it wasn’t going to be that bad. When in fact, as the first meeting date drew closer, the reality was beginning to set in. The best way that I can try to describe the feeling is through a recipe: take that nervous pit in your stomach feeling that you get when you go in for a job interview (or anything super important), then add 10 tons of emotion.
As we drove up to the hospital, the roadway rang of extreme familiarity. As the miles to go got smaller, the nervousness and anxiety grew. Off the exit, the car got quiet and my hands began to shake from energy without a focus. We pulled into the driveway to the hospital, then into the same parking garage that we did so many times before. It’s crazy how familiar you can become with a concrete building designed to temporarily house cars. Ezra was with us on that first night back, and it’s moments like this where it’s good to have him around….on the drive to the hospital, he asked a lot about where we were going and for what reason. He refers to the hospital as ‘Liam’s Hospital’ and once there, his comfort level with the building was the key to having to find a way through all of our adult feelings. I think that had he not been with us, we might have just stood just beyond the front doors for a while and found it more difficult to actually go inside. Once we got into the main foyer area, and then in the cafeteria, it was nearly overwhelming. Memories came flooding back. Hundreds of them in a single pass of the main entryway. Then, we had to chase Ezra.
After we got Ezra tucked into the child play area, we had our first meeting as a group. They explained that the first two weeks were going to be extremely difficult, and that we should really hang on until the third week before we started to feel any true forward learning momentum. They were right. The first two meeting were basically comprised of learning about each other and each other’s child. For some reason, I envisioned that it would be a group made up of people that all lost children of similar-ish age to Liam. I don’t have a clue as to where I got that impression, but it was far from the truth (for the privacy of those in the group, this is about as much detail as I will share about everyone). The causes of death and the age ranges of the kids are equally as vast, and there is really only one other couple in the group that has had a similar experience to us. It has been interesting however, that it doesn’t matter if they were two months old or 23 years old, there is a lot of commonality in the difficulties that we face now. We learned about lives short and shorter, about stories of relatively sudden loss and ‘expected’ loss, and about how together – and seperate – people are attempting to deal with the new realities. It’s some heavy shit.
We left the first two meetings with very sad hearts. We tried hard not to add to our loss by internalizing the loss of others, but you can’t entirely help it. The group has forced us to reengage some of the emotions that have been suppressed or passed due to the rest of life – both a good thing and a very difficult thing. The sadness felt after the first two meetings lasted for days. The second trip back to the hospital wasn’t nearly as charged as the first one, although the meeting was. Perhaps that’s some sort of metaphor for our current process. Or perhaps it’s just a matter of having to get to a meeting.
A good friend has embarked on a journey of his own, and he has restarted his blog to share some of it with all of us. Perhaps you can read about it, share stories, and maybe even reach out to him if you feel so compelled. Below is a part of his most recent post, and a link over to the rest of the story.
“The next day I met with Dr. Gonzales, the oncologist, as a follow up to the surgery. (This is where I found out I can read a pathology report better than my surgeon and the 5th year med student). It took 2 doctors to inform me that I am “seriously” ill. What???? How can I be so seriously ill, but not feel it? We started to discuss my treatment options, which are limited since melanoma does not respond to chemo or radiation. So this is where we are in our journey/ride…for now.”
Click here to go to the blog and follow his story. [PS – Firefighters: drop what you are doing, unless you have a hose/tool in hand, and read and follow this. It’s too important.]
Many, many moons ago – like all of the way back to the 2010 holiday season, I received a pretty cool gift: a 6-hour photo safari with a guide in Rocky Mountain National Park. Fast forward ten+ months and an entire lifetime, and we arrive to last week when I finally made it up there. A good friend of mine (Adam) and I went up there for the six hours with a fella by the name of Jared and spent an amazing morning touring around the east side of the park playing with photography.
Since sunrise and the hour immediately afterwards are perfect lighting opportunities for photography, we met early: 6am in Estes Park…which means that there is a leave-the-house departure time of 430am. During October, the front range of Colorado’s weather fluctuates all over the place: snow one day, 80 degrees just a few days later. But up in the foothills and mountains, things aren’t nearly as up and down…they are just simply trending colder….and this morning was no exception from that trend. The air temperature wasn’t too bad – just below freezing at sunrise – it was the wind that was difficult: 25-30mph gusts. All that means is that you quickly learn to manipulate the camera with gloves on.
We enjoyed a beautiful sunrise at Moraine Park before heading over towards some aspen trees. The aspens were my initial goal from the experience, but two things played against us in that hunt: a foot of snow a few days prior to our trip, and the high winds. We did find a few remaining stands of aspen trees, but nothing earth shattering. Rather, both Adam and my favorite part of the trip was doing the macro photography. In order to really accomplish this well, you need a very specific camera lens, and a special tripod capable of making those angles. What makes the experience so fun is that you do all of the photography, you use your camera body, and you can use the guides lenses and equipment were wanted. The macro shots, and a few long shots were where we used his stuff (the long shots were simply an excuse to use a $6,000 lens and didn’t really amount to anything). Oh, and those cold temperatures for the morning? Turns out that when you slip into a stream and get your shoes/pants wet up to mid-calf, the wind doesn’t seem to help dry it quicker….instead it makes it really, really cold for a while – like ‘get back in the car, turn the heater on, change socks, and hope for feeling in your toes’ cold.
Anyhow, I’m pretty stoked about how these pictures turned out and I have already planned for one of them to make it’s way to large canvas print – come by the house sometime and take a look. It was a blast to be up there with Adam, Jared is a really nice guy, and if you are in need of his information for yourselves, I’ll gladly pass it along. What’s that? You want to buy one? Send me an e-mail, let’s talk.
my favorite from the day
moraine park at sunrise
Can it get much better than a birthday gift of snowfall on Oct 8? Well, obviously it can, but a winter teaser this early in October is pretty tough to beat as birthday weather goes. I had the fortunate opportunity (you can read sarcasm or not) to work over my birthday, which has some pretty clear negatives, but also some unexpected positives. Because I wasn’t with my family on the actual day, the birthday celebrations got spread out a little; and because I was with my firehouse family on the actual day, I got teased a lot….oh, and we got to have some pretty good ice cream via Ahna and Ezra stopping by. There was also a mini-celebration with some close friends that featured (for the first time ever for me) birthday donuts, and a trip to the museum with Ahna and Ezra. Oh, and as far as a gift goes? To find out what I was lucky enough to get, you’ll have to join me out here on the slopes of Arapahoe Basin sometime this winter (ps – season has already started).
The Life of a Little Hippie 
