Praise to the God of all Comfort: TAPS conference

Last weekend the kids and I took a quick trip down to a TAPS conference in San Diego. Kate and Charlie attended Good Grief Camp for kids while there, just like they did in Washington DC this last May during our Memorial Day weekend trip. Time spent in the company of other TAPS families is always a blessing and the love those mentors and leaders shower on my children just warms my heart more than I can say. While the kids were at their camps, I attended a Peer Mentor training for the TAPS organization. I guess I feel like I am at a place where I have attended the seminars myself in the past and it is now time to try to give back in some way. So many others so selflessly reached out to me last year, especially at times when I felt like I simply could not, or did not want to, go on. If I can somehow just be a shoulder for someone else, sharing their grief with them, I want to be able and be prepared to do that.

What surprised me the most, however, was how much seeing others’ pain affected my view of myself. I sat in on the first sharing group on Friday evening after we arrived. It was seeing those new, first-time attendees arrive, raw with shock and new grief, that I realized how I had been that person at one point. My peer mentor was there (she has become a good friend of mine) and she asked me to help a newbie that evening, as she was overwhelmed herself with helping others. I found myself timid to approach this woman who was crying with fear and fresh grief. But then the memory of that debilitating, all-consuming pain came flooding back to me and I just hugged her. I hugged her while she cried and I listened. Because those two gifts - a warm embrace and a listening ear - were what I most needed in the weeks and months after Ryan's death. And as I listened to her sob, I remember and I felt that pain again. Not in a way that consumed me, but like a foggy memory of the hurt I had felt, and do still feel, but mixed with the familiarity of learning to live with the pain. And I know it sounds weird, but I felt thankful. I think you do not realize how much you have changed until you have something to compare it to. Kind of like when you look at a picture of your children and realize how much they have grown but you did not notice the growth day to day because the changes are so subtle and slow. I have changed from the person I was a year and half ago, in small subtle ways that add up to huge changes over time. Grief and tragedy change a person. Seeing others walk a similar path of pain brought that reality to my awareness. And I guess my hope is that maybe I can shine a ray of light into those feeling trapped in the darkness of their grief by showing them that they can keep taking steps forward and let the pain become a part of transforming them. One day they will look back and be able to say they have learned to live with their pain in new ways too.

Kate and Charlie spent the whole weekend in their age group camps, doing their “grief work” and playing on the beach with other kids and bonding with their military mentors. While they were safely occupied there, I attended that sharing group Friday morning, a workshop Saturday morning, and then I decided to spend Saturday afternoon alone, just relaxing and reflecting on the shores of Mission Bay. And somewhere in the middle of that afternoon, I realized I am no longer afraid of solitude. After Ryan died I spent months feeling absolutely terrified of being alone. Each step I took last year by myself - moving into my home, traveling, staying in a hotel, attending my school program, each new “thing” took so much energy to do because of the exhaustion of grief and fear. But sitting on the beach, alone, this past Saturday, I realized I was no longer afraid. I had easily driven down to San Diego, checked into our hotel, gotten the kids off to camp. and then instead of attending the afternoon seminar, I had chosen to sit alone on the beach because I wanted to. Not only was I not afraid of being by myself, I had sought it out as a comfort and had not thought twice about doing things that even just a few months ago would have been very scary to me. Sitting there by the water I realized what I had accomplished and how far I have gone - and I was just thankful. Thankful for answered prayer, thankful for those that have been there for me when I needed them, thankful for God's healing, thankful for the peaceful solitude there beside the ocean, and thankful for how God has continued to use my grief to love and keep a tender heart, instead of building up walls of bitterness or fear.

Sunday I spent the day in peer mentor training with other survivors who want to learn how to be there for those in their deepest time of need. It felt good to connect with these precious others. Those of us who have walked this horrific road of grief have a special bond, often unspoken, maybe just a knowing how difficult it can be to take the next breathe. I left the training that afternoon feeling loved, empowered, and ready to help wherever I could. I felt strong as I walked back to our hotel to check out and pick my kids up from camp, ready to drive home. And maybe God knew I needed that strength for the afternoon. I picked Kate up from camp first and as I walked up to get her and hear about her day, a man came rushing up to me. He was Kate's group leader for the weekend. Each camper gets paired one-on-one with a military mentor, someone who is usually active duty and volunteers their time for a whole weekend to just bond with and interact with a good grief kid. And the pairs of mentors / kid mentees are divided into groups (by age) and led through activities by a group leader who has volunteered to be trained to help kids with grief. I had met Kate's mentor for the weekend but not her group leader. So when this man sought me out at pick up and rushed over to me, I was caught off guard. He proceeded to tell me that he knew Ryan. He had been Ryan's co-worker at WHCA (White House Communications Agency) during part of our time in Washington DC. I was kind of in shock and listened as he teared up and hugged me. He had no idea that Ryan had passed away and did not put it together until he saw Kate's name and started talking to her. I thanked him for sharing and I left to go pick Charlie up from his camp.

As I was getting Charlie, however, it truly dawned on me what had just happened. I had met someone who knew Ryan and this was new information to me. All the memories I have of Ryan I have replayed over and over and over in my head so many times. It saddens me deeply that there will never be anything new to add to my memories. Suddenly I was desperate to hear more from this man so after getting Charlie, I rushed back to Kate's camp and found him again. I apologized that I had to think about what he said and I asked his name, where he had worked with Ryan, how long they had worked together, and a host of other questions. Daniel shared that they had worked together briefly downtown during Ryan's time at the White House itself, before Ryan was transferred back to the WHCA travel team. Ryan had LOVED that stretch of time downtown and Daniel shared that it was indeed a sweet, kind of unknown secret about how great that particular position was. And I received a tiny bit of new information about Ryan. No matter how small the words and new memories, I am just delighted to have anything new! That poor man must have thought I was crazy to come back and question him and hug him, but he was so incredibly sweet to talk with me and share. He even gave Kate his contact information and asked to keep in touch with us. I left feeling overwhelmed with emotion by the surprise of the afternoon. I struggled to hold back the tears spilling out, just to be able to drive ourselves home from San Diego that evening. I mean what are the chances that a previous co-worker from DC would travel to California and be assigned as my daughter's group leader? Again, I left feeling thankful. Thankful for a fresh memory, a new friend, and surprise blessings.