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Beginning a new week and a new month can always be hectic but I wanted to take time to share a new book with you. The book is called This Sure Thing by Sarah Mayfield (Author), Dennis Auth (Illustrator)
Over the weekend I found out one of my best friends who isn’t only a friend but my brother let me know his Cancer has spread and he only has 4 months to live. Bruce isn’t just a friend but a brother from another mother to both David and I.
As I begin to process this upcoming loss it lead me back to when Suzzie passed away. Charlie wasn’t old enough to know her but he has witnessed both my parents passing and the past month he has been missing them a lot.
Even though the boy in This Sure Thing had his brother pass away I had Charlie read the book and we discussed my mom and dad. Charlie liked finding the list in the back of the book that helped us pick out a few things to do to remember my parents.
I shared a journal I had started when Suzzie died with Charlie and he was able to see what I went through. Then we discussed my friend Bruce and picked out ways for me to celebrate his life and his brother’s life who also just passed away.
Even though This Sure Thing is for children who’ve lost a sibling this book will also help adults if they take the time to read the story and visit the website the Author has shared with us. Charlie and I believe this book should be in every Church and Grief Counselors Office as well as Schools.
I like how the story can be share with younger children all the way through adult hood. Having pages to write letters to our loved ones turns This Sure Thing into a keepsake for families to go back through as years move on without there loved ones.
About:
Inspired by real events, This Sure Thing captures a boy’s persistence after the death of his younger brother.
The boy imagines what life would be like if his brother were still alive. Days might be filled with football, laughter, and video games! His brother might discover the trick candles on his birthday cake! Despite all he wonders, the boy knows one thing for sure: his brother is no longer here, but the love he has for him still is. In sharing this unfading love with others, and writing notes to his deceased brother, the boy discovers both meaning and connection on his grief journey.
This Sure Thing, through a heartfelt, first-person narrative, encourages youth to continue to live the love they have for their person no longer here.
Bonus features included in this book:
“30 Ways to Live That Love”-Browse the list of remembrance activities and grief rituals. Pick out ones that feel like a good fit for you and your child. Discover new ways to live the love for your special person!
“Today Notes“- On these blank notes, write a few words (or draw a picture!) to your loved one about how you “live that love.” Capture the love you have for your special person! Save these notes and revisit them when you feel up to it.
Print blank Today Notes and find additional grief resources at livethatlove.org.
Twenty-five percent of author’s proceeds from book sales go to National Alliance for Children’s Grief and Full Circle Grief Center.
Please check out Sarah Mayfield’s thoughts below:
Things are forever changed after the death of a child. There will always be a “before” and “after.” President Eisenhower, after the death of his son, “Ikky,” said: “There’s no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were.”
And so begins the grief journey, where the road is often unpredictable, tumultuous, sad, and lonely.
I dislike “happiness-washing” grief, or the impulse to downplay the grief experience. Grief IS sad. Grief IS lonely. Grief IS a convoluted maze (and about a million other things). While this can be difficult for many to hear, I believe the benefits of honesty far outweigh the consequences of discomfort.
In that vein, here are 4 honest things I am learning on my grief journey:
1. Death of a Child is Traumatic
The death of a child is categorized as traumatic bereavement. It is anachronistic—out of sequence with the natural order of things. It’s not supposed to happen. Parents are supposed to die first.
After the death of a child, bereaved parents must not only process their grief but also the trauma of the loss. This combination of grief and trauma is often referred to as “The Dual Burden.”
Trauma is loud and noisy and often complicates one’s ability to grieve. Instead of “just” experiencing feelings of sadness and longing, I frequently have experienced feelings of panic, fear, guilt, and—here comes that honesty—terror. The death of a child is not the norm.
2. Some Don’t Get It
I remember a (well-intentioned) person telling me, six months after Elliot’s death, “At some point, you’ll have to live your life.” And just when I thought I was not only living, but getting out of bed each day (sidebar: getting out of bed after your child dies is a victory in and of itself)!
Contrary to some opinions, I believe that six months after the death is when the numbness and shock start to lift. The cotton ball gauze that wrapped my brain had just begun to unravel. I started to realize, with soul-crushing permanency, that Elliot wasn’t coming back.
Isn’t it interesting that, about the same time society thinks we should be “getting over it,” is when the heavy lifting begins? Bereaved parent support groups were instrumental for me during this time. I could be myself in a group with other grieving parents. We could talk about our dead kids without guardrails–one minute crying, the next minute laughing, the next minute silent–and no one there to judge. Because some do get it.
3. Trust Yourself
Grief is like cooked spaghetti thrown against a wall—non-linear, confusing, and messy. After my son’s death, I felt complex emotions of varying strength. There was often no predicting what would pop up or when, which can be scary as hell.
Despite this feeling of overwhelm, I began to notice that no one big emotion lasts forever. My feelings and their intensity would eventually morph, shift, and change (that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be back!). I started to trust that I could sit with my emotions. I started to trust that I could sit with my grief–no matter what that spaghetti looked like.
I used to think the lessening of these raw and intense emotions meant the lessening of my connection with my deceased son. After all, trauma and grief are such strong forces, they start to feel like companions. But I’ve been learning there’s only one true companion…
4. Love Never Dies
When the gauzy haze of trauma started to become less opaque, I found myself sitting more with a quiet, still sadness. It was in these somber moments of missing Elliot that I began to see 1) the murky loudness of trauma, 2) society’s discomfort with pain, and 3) confidence in my grieving self.
It’s taken every bit of seven years and the building of much “grief muscle” to be here. Yet the thing I’ve been learning most all along:
Love never dies.
Sarah Mayfield, MEd, NCC, CT
Compassionate Bereavement Care Certified Provider
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
