Southwest Hope and Healing Bereavement Retreat (Part 2)

Seems as if I start most posts the same way lately, that I haven’t blogged in a while. I write almost daily, even if just a line or two, but nothing that feels worthy of sharing. There just doesn’t seem to be much point. I don’t do very much, especially now that it’s summer (which is sadly nearing the end) and my emotions and motivations or lack thereof haven’t changed very much. I am by no means the only one going through a difficult time and with the grief, loss, fatigue, and malaise surrounding covid, I haven’t felt right putting all my thoughts out there. I do know anyone reading this wants to hear them, wants to know how I am really doing, but much hasn’t changed for me. Just plodding along, trying to survive day by day.

For those that have been following my story since the beginning or close to it, will have read about our experience with a bereavement retreat that we attended in Arizona just 3 months after Ariella died. If you haven’t read that post you can find it here: https://lifeafterchildloss.net/the-retreat/ The retreat was for parents whose children have died from cancer and it was a heavy, poignant, in some ways beautiful, and therapeutic weekend. So when given the opportunity to attend again, we booked our flights without hesitation.

This year, in anticipation of the emotions and heartbreak, and the weight of shared grief that we knew was ahead, David and I decided to travel to Arizona a day early and just take some time for us. This time we knew what to expect and we knew how incredibly hard it was going to be, and we wanted to ease into it. So we once again travelled across time zones, into a desert landscape with a hot climate (but it’s a dry heat!) and took in the beauty of our surroundings while preparing for the work ahead (and facing grief head on, sharing stories, meeting other bereaved families is indeed work). We spent our first day and night at a beautiful resort, having some drinks at the pool, getting in some exercise, and doing some hiking. The the desert can seem quite unforgiving but the scenery is picturesque and the beautiful surroundings add a sense of calm and peace.

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Our grief clings to us like an unwelcome visitor and yet being away from home provides some relief from the ever present suffocating feeling. It felt easier to breathe, easier to move, easier just to “be”. At least in the day prior to the retreat. Whenever I’m away from home I look for signs that Ariella is there with me and this trip was no exception. I choose to believe she was there in the butterflies that kissed my arm and flew all around us on our hike. There were so many things Ariella would have loved about that hike we took (and a few she would have hated) and I wish she was there with us. Of course if she could have been there we wouldn’t have been there at all. We crashed early that first night due to the time difference and of course were up ridiculously early the next morning, which gave me plenty of time to get in a run. Some things don’t change and I continue to need to exercise to manage my anxiety. I do love running in a new place and this was no exception, though I planned poorly and went downhill for the first half of the run, meaning the second half was straight uphill. But I beat the worst of the heat and it was a good start to what I knew would be a challenging day.

Onto the retreat. Though we had done this before and knew what to expect, there was still some anxiety about what was ahead. But I needn’t had worried. Going into the dinner, decorating our candle for the candle lighting ceremony, and talking with other bereaved families, was like returning home. Some families we knew from the previous retreat, some we knew from a virtual retreat we attended, some we knew from following each others’ stories on Facebook, and some were complete strangers. But in the bereaved parents of childhood cancer world there are no strangers. We all have this one tragic thing in common and that makes us family. There is no better support than another parent who knows just what you are feeling. That dining room at that ranch in the heat of the Arizona desert was where we belonged. I haven’t felt such a sense of belonging since the retreat in 2019 and I didn’t realize I needed it until I was experiencing it.

This was a very difficult weekend. We shared our stories. We shared them without fear of judgment, without getting cliches and platitudes in return, and without toxic positivity. We didn’t censor ourselves and we didn’t worry about making others uncomfortable. We were just heard. We were seen. We listened, without distraction, even though our stories were often similar and brought us back to our own nightmares. We talked about our children and our loss and our grief in a safe space and that is a rare thing for bereaved parents to be able to do. Grief is ugly and messy. It’s disorganized and scary and oppressive and stifling, but being able to share that grief with someone else is beautiful. And I have found that sharing others’ grief helps to lighten mine in the moment.

When we first showed up at the retreat I was asked how it was different now, 2 years later, than it was when we were still so fresh in our grief. I replied that I wasn’t sure but that it didn’t feel quite as raw and that I could now talk about Ariella without crying. Except that as soon as I started to share, I started crying. And I realized that this is still new. Two years later and I feel like I am still learning to navigate this world without my beautiful daughter. Though it’s easier for me to get out of bed every day, the loss feels much heavier than it did initially. Because the numbness is gone and reality hit that this is truly forever. As the months tick by I am reminded of all the experiences Ariella missed out on and will continue to miss out on, and all that we will miss as her parents. Ariella should be starting high school next week and developing crushes and becoming more independent with her friends. Instead friends that were younger have now surpassed her and they are experiencing the milestones she never did. This really does not get easier. I guess the difference between now and then is that I know that I will survive, even if I don’t want to.

Connections were made once again and we are lucky to have yet another opportunity in the next few months to meet with these families again, this time in Florida. Many felt there wasn’t enough time in this retreat. I think there were enough days, but we spent so much time sharing our stories (which is a necessary thing) that there wasn’t time for a facilitated session. I expressed a need for more workshop type sessions such as for self-care, and more time just to be with the other families. Others expressed similar. And our gracious host generously has arranged one more retreat for the same families and already I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again. Because those are our people.

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