Unscrambling Grief (Illustrated)

Gail Miller

Description

I've led an interesting life of both tragedy and blessing, which is why I put pen to paper and wrote Unscrambling Grief - the heart-wrenching story of our loss of two daughters, for two different reasons.

It's an easy read of just over an hour, illustrated with humorous cartoons to make a point in a light-hearted way. The guest speaker at the book launch described it as a must read book for everyone, because grief bypasses no-one.

Unscrambling Grief concludes with stories written by others, about their foray on this unwelcome path. It's filled with hope and encouragement, to spur you on to cope with your own journey or that of a friend.

Readers are describing this book as relational and real - not like a text book.

Sujets

• Santé et bien-être
• Santé mentale & traumatisme
• Santé mentale
• Santé mentale
• Healing

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 06 septembre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456622749
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

This picture depicts the journey we were on. We began in a very cold and lonely place, trudging a seemingly solitary road on a slow and wearisome trek. However, as time went on the sun started to glimmer through the trees, until one day, we found ourselves again standing in the blazing light in a warm and welcoming place.

Copyright © 2014 Gail Miller
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (mechanical, electronic, photocopying or otherwise) or changed in any format, sold, or used in a way other than what is outlined in this book, under any circumstances, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
First Edition: January 2014
Illustrated by David Kowalick
Edited by Amanda Hancock
Cover design by Nicole Dunkley
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2274-9
Gail Miller, 39 Ellis Avenue, Eden Hills,
South Australia, Australia, 5050
Email: [e-mail]
Website: www.gailruthmiller.com

T his book is for those who are grieving and their supporters walking beside them. It will show you what is helpful and things that may not be so useful to say or do right now.
Death is just one reason to grieve, and here are a few others –
- did someone else win the job you had your heart set on?
- are you single but would love to be in a relationship?
- did the doctor just confirm that you can’t have children?
- are you in a domestic violence relationship?
- are you being bullied or excluded?
If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, then you have experienced grief and this book is for you .
“Talking about the person is so important. One of Ray’s best mates posted on Facebook that he had done a 60km bike ride and missed his best mate, saying that Ray was the one who introduced him to cycling, which he loves. I was so happy to see the post, because it’s 21 months since we lost Ray and I guess I was happy to see that someone else acknowledged that it still hurts.’
~ Helen Woolley , Albury, Australia
“After I lost my Mum, I’d be with girls at school talking about family things and they’d say, ‘What about your Mum?’ My reply, ‘She’s dead.’ An awkward silence followed and they’d never ask what happened. I’d love to have had the chance to tell my story about her.”
~ Maggie Frischhut , Bavaria, Germany
I’ve led an interesting life of both tragedy and blessing, which is why I put pen to paper and wrote Unscrambling Grief .
I believe we can choose how we respond to what life throws at us. Through what I’ve learned and the choices I’ve made, I’ve walked the path of adversity and emerged from the gloom with an attitude that allows me to find the good in almost any situation.
GAIL MILLER
www.gailruthmiller.com | [e-mail]

Dedicated to ...
Ron and Luke who faithfully walked this path with me, and to Heidi, who has been pivotal in our healing.
In memory of ...
Katie and Cathryn who you will meet along the way.
Thanks ...
To our family and friends who sat and listened right when we needed them.
To those who contributed their personal stories which you can read at the end of the book – all valid grief experiences.
To the people over the past 24 years who encouraged me to write our story.
To Nicole, Amanda, David K and David W who have contributed with their graphics, editing and type-setting skills.

Author’s preface
Grief comes in many forms, at any time and often when we least expect it. It launches us into a vertical learning curve at a time when we don’t want to learn.
Imagine being allowed to grieve your own way and in your own time, without the constraints that others may put on you, or that you inflict on yourself.
This is a journey that you, a friend, relative or colleague are on, that is unique to each person. For that reason, this journey must carry the permission to be walked in a unique fashion.
I’m writing our story at the insistence of many people who I’ve met in the past twenty four years – people who were not part of our walk through the valley of the shadows of death. I only tell the story when I feel a connection with the person to whom I’m speaking and if they make a statement like, ‘Twelve years is a large age gap between your children.’ After hearing my tale they say that I should write my story to encourage others who are grieving, to know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Unscrambling Grief will show you, through the story of our sojourn through grief, that you should feel free to express emotions as they arise. Don’t squash them, don’t belittle yourself for feeling that way, just let whatever happens be OK.
By giving yourself this freedom, you just might reappear at some stage as a happy and well-adjusted person, who has survived a journey they didn’t intend to take, all the wiser for the experience.
So, I welcome you to our journey ...
Chapter 1
Our Story ...
A n idyllic weekend in winter had come to an end. My husband, Ron and I had spent three days with our two children at my in-laws beach shack, in the tiny seaside village of Second Valley, tramping over the hills overlooking the cold, grey, wintry waters. We’d trudged through wads of soggy seaweed, nestling against the rock wall that shelters the crescent shaped beach, whilst our daughter Cathryn yelled to us above the roar of the crashing waves: ‘Look at the wobbly foam.’ She and her brother Luke, sploshed around in their gumboots on this magic winters day.

This blue-eyed preschooler with blonde curls and sky blue metal-rimmed spectacles, looked up to Luke, literally, as our handsome nine year old son was already growing into a tall young man. They never fought, instead delighting in each other’s company.
The shack cleaned and the car packed, we said goodbye to Second Valley, as we’d done many times before. Instead of going home, Ron and Cathryn were going to spend several days with Granny and Grandpop on their little farm. Cathryn was so excited about her three-day sleepover at her grandparent’s home.
She particularly loved the tree house, nestled in an enormous gum tree, with rough wooden steps meandering up the trunk to the door. Perched aloft, she could imagine herself as master of a pirate ship, or a member of the Swiss Family Robinson. On the long chain swing nearby, she could swing ‘til the cows came home,’ or at least the sheep, as was the case on this farmlet. Sitting one way, Cathryn could gaze at the hill that stretched upwards behind the house, dotted with sheep nibbling the grass. In the opposite direction was the most glorious view over the vineyards and almond orchards on their gentle slopes, and in the distance, a panoramic view of the ocean.
What more could a little girl want? The rocky pond and waterfall, under the wisteria canopy beyond the lounge room, was guarded by a gnome holding a fishing rod. But he didn’t frighten the wrens away as they fluttered down to drink.
Driving away from Granny and Grandpop’s house, I glanced in the rear view mirror one last time. Ron and Cathryn stood in the carport waving at Luke and me as we headed for home. Luke’s school holidays were over, so it was time for us to resume our normal routine.
An odd and unexpected thought flashed through my mind as I looked at Cathryn: ‘Will I ever see you again?’ I wondered, but quickly dismissed this random and crazy question.
Chapter 2
Two am ...
T hree nights later I awoke at our home in Eden Hills at 2am. Strangely, that same morning at 2am my sister awoke in Blackwood, just two and a half kilometers away. At 2am a very close friend awoke just three kilometers away. Why was this significant? Who was to know?

I heard a car stop on the street in the cul-de-sac in front of the house and shortly after a firm knock at the front door. It was the middle of the night, so I gingerly opened the door, and saw two police officers in their navy uniforms, a lady and a man, and behind them my husband Ron. A chill ran down my spine as my mind raced, trying to understand what was happening.
I looked at Ron and knew that something was dreadfully wrong. Have you ever been in a situation where you didn’t know if you would throw up, or collapse, or if you could ever stop shaking? That’s how I felt in that nanosecond after I opened our wooden front door. ‘Gail, we need to talk to you,’ one of the police officers said. ‘Can we come in?’
‘Where’s Cathryn?’ I implored, as I showed the trio inside, and then the police recounted the story of what happened on that fateful night.
‘Gail, we’re sorry to tell you that Cathryn died tonight,’ said the policewoman. ‘How nice that they sent a man and a lady,’ I thought. It somehow softened the tragic news a little, being told by someone who was perhaps a mother herself.
We all sat in the cold lounge room – it was 4.30 a.m. and the glowing fire of the previous night had died.
Whilst the police told me what had happened, Ron remained silent, too shocked to speak. He sat quietly beside me on the lounge, looking utterly forlorn.
Ron had been to visit a friend in Willunga and when he returned, he went into the bedroom and kissed Cathryn goodnight. It was late and she was asleep. Afterwards Ron and Granny sat at the round kitchen table, with it’s blue and white checked cloth, drinking cups of tea and chatting, as they’d done a million times before. Granny told Ron that Cathryn went to bed at about 8 o’clock, but woke up and called out to her, so she sat on her bed and they had a lovely chat before Cathryn had nodded off into a calm and peaceful sleep.
As Granny and Ron talked the kitchen clock quietly ticked towards midnight. With goodnights said, Ron headed towards Cathryn’s room for the customary final check before he went to bed, but even from the dim light of the passage, he could see that something was dreadfully wrong. She was laying in an odd fashi