Why We Attend Meetings

by Pat O'Donnel 

We went to the National Conference of The Compassionate Friends and many folks wonder why? Why would someone willfully subject themselves to recurring sadness and bring to the surface the pain associated with the death of their child? Over a thousand parents whose children have died gathered in one place to listen, to learn, to cry and laugh. Some came because they had nowhere else to go in their new helpless state. The new folks struggling to place one foot in front of the other with that look, that haunting blank look of utter disbelief and total confusion. It is as surrealistic for the new folks as it is real for the experienced. This may be arguably the saddest place on earth. Some have had more than one son or daughter die. So we go to TCF meetings for a variety of reasons but two stand out.

First, we have discovered that many parents honor their child's memory by simply surviving. When we remember those horrific first moments, days, weeks and months that somehow became a year we are amazed that we are still here. How did we ever survive? The answer is not simple but one aspect of the whole picture is quite clear. Our Compassionate Friends were there for us and so we will be there for those bereaved Moms and Dad's of tomorrow. Perhaps it is part of our healing process. Being available to listen to the new folks that have that look of desperation, bewilderment, and infinite pain may be all we can do but at least it is something. I know our Brian must surely be happy that we are trying to remember and honor his memory the best we can while we stumble through our grief journey. Some goodness is passed from one Mom to another from one Dad to another and a bond between strangers is formed that includes love for each other's child. We never knew your son or daughter but we know how much you loved them, we know how much you hurt, and this knowledge enters us into a circle of trust and closeness that is unique to the human experience. We are strangers experiencing through our dead children a love that is usually reserved for our closest family or friends and it took only seconds to get from "hi my name is…" to "please let me hug you, I know how you feel!" as our tears flow from separate pairs of eyes to the same floor of sadness.

So here we are at a table of strangers in a far off place called Salt Lake City on the Fourth of July weekend. After exchanging the usual pleasantries the inevitable "where are you from?" falls into the natural progression of small talk. Gigi sat next to me and stated she was from South Bend, Indiana. I found this interesting since I had often gone there with Brian to many Notre Dame football games over the years. I inquired if Gigi had ever attended any games and with a very pronounced roll of her eyes she responded emphatically "no, but he has," gesturing with her hitchhiking thumb to her right towards a stout gentlemen that was already producing a business card that read "Notre Dame's # 1 biggest fan!" How could this be? Over a thousand people, a hundred tables, and I sit next to a Notre Dame graduate who had lost his dear daughter, Cecelia, some 16 years ago at the young age of 15. Janet showed them a picture of our son Brian, his high school senior picture, wearing a great smile and his Notre Dame sweatshirt. We were instant friends united in tragedy, circumstance, understanding and, who knows, maybe even because our children wanted us to meet.

The second reason is because of you. You were there for us when we needed someone that knew what this horrific pain was like. You were there to listen. You were there to offer hope that survival was more than a possibility. Sometimes a recounting of your travels through grief would stir an idea and the light bulb would go off overhead and our path was suddenly lit and our journey would restart or continue. You helped in more ways than one can ever recount. Sometimes this life seems quite complicated but not in this case. My Brian died and you understood, you listened, you offered happy possibilities. You would not let us cry alone. Strangers helping strangers in their time of need and Wednesday's Children are smiling.