October 7, 2002
Thank you for the binder

Last Monday I sent out my Day 285 email. I printed off a copy for Nanny, who, I have to admit, seems to have a life despite her refusal to buy a computer and get online. The family photo printed off too, because, as usual, I forgot to click on the Selection button. More wasted expensive colour cartridge, I thought. But then on a whim, I found a spare three ring binder, got out the three hole punch, and put the photo in it. So when all your wonderful responses started arriving the obvious thing to do was to put them in the binder too. It has got quite full.

I want to thank you for that gift. Pam and I keep picking up the binder for another read, and it has brought us great comfort this week. And I want you to know that our week has been shaped by your thoughts and brought us a new sense of stability and direction. You have helped us put to rest a number of issues. Perhaps in grieving there are times when the unanswered questions become a babble of noise in your head that is overwhelming. You have calmed that storm. Then there were those niggling decisions to make that have been put off for months, the indecision and inaction adding to one's sense of failure. The tombstone was one of them. James' grave is still without one, as we hum and haw about the design. But three of you mentioned the Jewish tradition of unveiling the tombstone on the first anniversary. Not only did that get us down to the monument place to finalize the details, but now we know what we will be doing on Dec 18th, a gift in itself, I can tell you. Another friend tentatively suggested attending a bereavement class for the family. Coincidentally (maybe not) a new session was starting on Wednesday, so we were there, all four of us, (sorry five, one of James' good friends came too) and while the kids worked through some art therapy, Pam and I shared in the parent session next door. Then there was the idea of building all sorts of new family memories, memories that can stand proud next to all those James adventures. That concept has given us the push to welcome new friends and experiences. Pam has accepted an invitation to adjudicate a Kiwanis music festival, a first for her. And we finally caved in to the children's wish to see Niagara Falls, so off we go later this month for a three day visit. We are doing lots of things to build our new family unit - speaking of which we all went to the bowling alley yesterday afternoon, and decided that 5 pin was ok, while 10 pin was brutal. Glad no one was watching us do the latter.

Some of you shared your Sunday afternoon normality with us. Actually some sounded delightfully abnormal. I could fill a book with Sunday afternoon anecdotes. Did you know how many people look forward to their Sunday afternoon nap? Just to read of what other folk do I found very soothing.

You sent us some words so profound that I want to share a few. Your responses have made a deep impression on Pam and me. Many of you have written out of your own grief, and perhaps sharing these words helps us all. I can't thank you enough for taking the time to write.

"There is no time limit on grief, especially a child, your own child."

"Memories become a torment before they become a treasure."

" Believe that your dream of a happy James is an affirmation that he is indeed ecstatically happy in his House in Heaven with Jesus"

" I use my calendar to heal. I plan things and do them. I have lunches with friends. I have get together and parties. I have my son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren here for bbqs and lots of visits. I don't allow myself too much time to slip into depression"

"James Barrie created Peter Pan. He had a brother who died when he was a child, and grew up to create the beloved boy who never became an adult. He enriched generations of people with the depiction of a boy who doesn't develop. It probably didn't stop him from grieving his brother, but it turned a loss into a gain ... I think you're doing that already"

"Your updates have been such an important part of my life for the past couple of years."

"I don't think we ever completely get over losing a loved one. I'm not sure we're supposed to. I think what we do is surprise ourselves by discovering that we can indeed laugh and have fun in between those bittersweet times of missing our loved one. Then, gradually, we find that we have more times of laughter and fun, and the times of missing seem less like a sharp pain, and more like a wistful mixture of both fond memories and the sadness that the person isn't there to share the fun."

"Grief is very much a roller coaster."

"Is it a surprise that Ben is fascinated by roller coasters? He has been on the Birrell roller coaster for a long time."

"I think you are doing what every family who has suffered a tragic loss does - laugh in between the grieving. Don't worry, soon you will be grieving in between the laughs, and you will be the better for it."

So, we are not alone on this path, and it brings meaning to our loss to think that sharing our walk might encourage others too. In a moment I will print off a copy of this email for Nanny. Actually two copies. The second I will place at the back of my binder, to remind me in times to come of what I have learned this week. And I will end with a quote from a mom in Australia, because I can't do better. And I very much empathize.

"Well, I think I've said enough, you and your family take care, and when you find normal, please email it to me."