To Sloan December 9, 2009

We come together

 to hold him tight

and lay him down for the night.

He is my cousin I cannot lie,

but now it’s time to let him fly.

Forgive us all

the wrongs we have done

and then we will send him to the Son.

I love him much and I’ll never forget

when I called him that day

knowing what he would say,

“I’m proud of you Luque, no really I am,

Congrats on the jump.”

I felt like Peter Pan.

I knew he’d be proud of the thing I had done.

But now I am proud he’s with the Son!

                                           By Luque Benthall

Sloan Benthall Zirkle passed on December 9, 2009 and is lovingly remembered by his cousin Luque Benthall in this poem.  This blog is done in his memory and in honor of his first birthday in heaven on January 2, 2010.

A  DAY  TO  REMEMBER

Today I placed a rose on your graves

On my way to see your Mom and Dad

To celebrate your lives

And to thank God for

The many beautiful smiles you gave.

From the moment I stepped into your yard

The first visitor I met was Grief

And thought, this is far too hard.

I stopped at a table

Was given a small card and a balloon

Which triggered memories

Of our time in discipleship class

Which ended far too soon.

On the card I wrote a note

To your Mom and Dad

Thanking them for the example

And inspiration from them we all have had.

Tying the note to the

String from the balloon,

I release it to the eternal sky.

As it soared higher and higher

I watched it go

Thoughts of angels

Ushering you home

Reminding me, we will be

Joining you soon.

Going inside, receiving hugs and welcomes

From your Mom and Dad, hearing their

Laughter, seeing their smiles

Mr. Grief had to flee

Because Joy had arrived.

You and your brothers were there,

Because in every room and space

We who were visiting

Could see your lovely face.

On the video your Mom had made

We watched you all four

Frolic and play,

Loving each other until dying day.

Mom & Dad

Sons

Daughter

Brothers

Sister

Snowmen, sledding,

Balls, bats, uniforms,

Kittens, ballet shoes, guitar,

Easter baskets,

Bibles

Baby dolls

Ballgames

Horses

Recitals

Sunday School

Church

Friends

These are enough memories

To keep us until the end.

I count it my blessing

God has allowed us to be friends.

By Gladys Neal

July 23, 2009…seventeen years removed from July 23, 1992…as Luther just said, “God bless you Drew and Jeremiah!”  For the past two days we have been driving the 1941 Dodge that Drew and I drove back in 1974 when he was just a newborn.  Back then the Dodge was all black and looked quite different than it does today. 

This car is one of twenty-two automobiles in our car collection.  Although many of them are more valuable, this car has the most intriguing history.  We are only the second owners of this 1941 Dodge that we have owned thirty-five years.  It was purchased in 1974 from one of our pharmacy customers in Clarksville, IN.  I drove the car on a daily basis.  I used the car to drop off Drew on my way to my pharmacy position at Super-X Drugs in Clarksville.

We moved from Indiana to our present home in Beattyville, KY in January of 1975 when Drew was nine months old.  The car was driven regularly for the next five or six years as our family grew to include our sons Jeremiah and Jordan.

Somewhere in the early 1980’s, we decided to restore the old Dodge.  We had a local restorer store the car until his schedule cleared enough for him to begin the project.  Days, months and then years went by with no progress on the car.  We actually forgot the car.  We were busy growing our pharmacy corporation and our three sons with little thought of ever getting the car restored. 

July 23, 1992 was a tragic day in our lives.  Our two oldest sons, Drew, then 18 and Jeremiah, 15, were killed that beautiful July morning in a single car accident.  The focus of our lives changed forever that day.  Surviving day to day, not restoring a 1941 Dodge became our way of life.

Sometime in early 1997, the man who had stored the Dodge for now over sixteen years came to talk to Luther.  He had a story to share about the forgotten car.  The car had been parked for years under a seventy-five foot tall sycamore tree.  It was rusting away so one day he decided to get it out of the weather by moving it into one of his garages.  That night, lightening struck the tree and it fell across where the car had been sitting.  It would have been destroyed.  

About six months later, a man came to buy parts that happened to be stored behind the old Dodge.  The Dodge was hauled out to again be out in the weather.  That night, lightening stuck the garage and it burned to the ground!  Well, this man decided that “this car is trying to tell us something” so he came to share his story.

Needless to say we rescued our Dodge after the two near misses and seventeen years.  We decided to do a frame-off restoration and make “Drew’s Dodge” into a custom rod.  Frank Craft from Hilton Head Island, SC, started the restoration in 2002.  The car was completed in 2006 just in time for the Hilton Head Concours d’Elegance where the car won the Palmetto Award, “The Car You’d Most Like to Drive to a Car Show.”  We have a personalized license plate for the car that memorializes our son Drew.  The plate says DREW 41.  We know he and Jeremiah saved the car for us.  We have driven it with warm memories of them the past several days.  We weren’t even surprised when “Every Breath You Take” came on the Dodge’s radio only minutes after we decided to drive the car!! 

We love you Drew and Jeremiah.  We love you Jeremiah and Drew.  How can I put one in front of the other?  To me, they go together, not one before and one after.  We will celebrate their lives today by driving Drew’s 41.

As I sit here alone on the morning of Jeremiah’s birth I am overcome with emotion. How I wish I had brought Jeremiah’s red Boogie hat with me to the beach. Wearing it somehow brings him closer. I’m afraid to take it anywhere for fear something will happen to it. It sits alone this morning in his room in Kentucky as I sit alone here at the beach.

Yesterday my dear friend Linda Harkness sent me this message, “I’m in the swing in FL @ the Harkness lake house – away from all so I can cry in peace. Nothing is ever the same anymore. Can’t help but think of Jeremiah too. Luvu.” She will never know what this remembrance meant to me. Later yesterday our doorbell rang and there stood a man delivering flowers. I didn’t even have to read the card to know that our wonderful friends Eleanor and Artie Foss had sent them for Jeremiah’s birthday.

Where would I be today without these friends who share this grief walk? Where would I be without employees like Carmen Cress who never forgets our daily struggles without Drew and Jeremiah? Where would I be without my girls at the office, Barb, Linda, Elizabeth and Mary Ann who support my work with other bereaved parents with joy and compassion?

As I am writing, precious Erin has come to tell me she is going to the beach. She and her husband Brian are with us this weekend. How we love them both! Brian has enveloped us as family since his marriage to Erin. He too has worked with our ministry by using his creative talents to develop a new identity for our documentary, Space Between Breaths. Their presence this weekend along with Jeremiah’s friend Hunter Montgomery and his family will make this a day of celebration.

Missing this weekend are Fong, Xinyu and Andy and Ashley. They are in Nashville but never far from my thoughts…where would Luther, Jordan and I be without them?

Our middle son, Jeremiah Cottle Smith, was born on July 4th, 1977. This Saturday would have been his thirty-second birthday. As my friend Cindy Bullens says, “He lived his whole life in fifteen years.” As I face another July 4th without him, my thoughts turn to the day he was born. Jeremiah was actually born three minutes before July 4th but our physician recorded his birth at 12:01 AM.

From early on, Luther and I knew that Jeremiah was an old soul. Even as a baby, he comforted us as we juggled working long hours with raising two young sons. Those blue eyes held a wisdom well beyond his years. Jeremiah was a people person. He was as comfortable with adults as he was his peers. How we miss he and his brother Drew. As we celebrate the 4th of July this Saturday, we will remember them.

May 2nd, 2009 was a very special day in so many ways. Lori LaMay, a Fellow Traveler from Huntington, NY hosted an incredible screening for my documentary “Space Between Breaths” in her hometown. Lori and I met back in March of 2003 when she attended a workshop at which I was a presenter. Her precious son Jared had passed in a car accident only weeks before. After hearing from Lori that September, she and I never spoke again until she called me in the fall of 2008 with her idea of hosting a screening for my film. I was thrilled to hear from her and proud that she wanted to have a screening.

Four of the twelve families interviewed for the documentary honored Lori by attending her screening. Lori rented the beautiful Cinema Arts Center and she and her friend Regina Boccard served breakfast for the two hundred or so attendees. What a selfless act to host a screening free to the public. Elaine and Joe Stillwell came with many members of their TCF group in tow. May 2nd was a special day for them in another way in that it was their daughter Annie’s birthday. Tessie and Joe Hunter came with their son Sean and his wife Rosemary, the other Rosemary Smith. Have I told you that story? My precious Sean, one of two siblings we interviewed for the film, married a wonderful girl named Rosemary Smith. I love it! This was the first time I had met the other Rosemary and I loved her!! She and Sean make the perfect couple.

Claudia and Paul Grammatico were also there for the Long Island screening. Like Elaine, Claudia had spread the word about Lori’s screening and many of her family and friends were there to share the day. I try to meet each person who comes to a screening. While speaking to a family, I noticed a man enter by himself. He seemed so familiar to me. Who was this man? I could not come up with a name and before I could get to where he was, he had been swallowed up in the crowd. About a half an hour later. Claudia said she had someone special she wanted me to meet. As she led me through the crowd, the mystery man was suddenly right in front of me. Claudia said, “Rosemary, this is Joe Senatore, my son Paul’s heart recipient.” I was stunned!! Claudia had shared photos of Joe with me on many occasions but to be face to face with him gave me cold chills. He was alive because Paul’s heart was beating in his chest. Standing before me was a miracle that sprang from a terrible tragedy. The above photo was taken when Joe came to take Claudia for a ride on his motorcycle. The Gift of Life really is a miracle!

Lori’s screening was a huge success on Derby Day, May 2nd. She and Regina worked for months to bring our film to the Huntington area. I know I am forever changed by the events that transpired that day. I have posted the comments from the attendees on my www.spacebetweenbreaths.com website.

Kate von Alt’s precious mother, Estelle von Alt came to this Huntington screening. Kate and I had become online friends after she found my documentary website. Kate lives in Austin, Texas but grew up in Huntington, NY. She saw the notice for Lori’s screening in her hometown and sent me an e-mail. Could she have a screening in Austin? I was thrilled. I had no idea anyone from Kate’s family would be with us on May 2nd, but her mother came. Kate, meeting your mother opened my eyes to the source of your compassion…precious Estelle. I am looking so forward to our trip to Austin for Kate’s screening in the fall.

My family made the trip with me to NY for the May 2nd screening. Our son Fong and his wife Xinyu came from Nashville to join Luther and me. Fong is the technical coordinator for each of our screenings. I would be a nervous wreck if I didn’t know he was in charge. He has traveled all over the country with our film. Without him, none of this would have been possible. Thank you Fong. Xinyu was able to make this trip and was such a positive influence on each of the bereaved families and professionals who attended. Luther and I were so blessed to have her with us. Thank you Xinyu.

What a day May 2nd was. There is no way I could mention all the special people who came that day. Our dear friends Eleanor and Artie Foss were there of course. Where would I be without all of you?

When a loved one has died we feel shock and disbelief that someone of such significance in our life could be gone from this world. The world has drastically changed for us, and we expect that it should be changed for others, too. We don’t want the period of our life marked by their presence to be over. Struggling to find meaning, we question everything and wonder about the the significance of their life and death. Our mind is consumed with our loved one as we try to make sense of all we have experienced. Some of those memories may bring tears and some may bring joy, but still we do need to remember. We need to tell our story and their story. Others need to know about our special person, others who will be born later or who we will meet later. We don’t want our loved one to ever be forgotten, yet how can we move forward in our lives and still address these needs which hold us so tightly to the past?

For me and for many others, the key was found in journaling. We should and must actively remember all that our loved one meant to us, all with which they gifted this world, all that we experienced, and all that we hoped to experience with them but lost. All of these memories define us and our relationship to the one who has died. Remembering and writing down these memories means that our loved one continues to inspire or to motivate us in ways that, perhaps, they could not when they were living.

My other son David attended a series of grief sessions for youth offered through our local Hospice organization. He was given a series of questions on which to reflect to help him in his recovery. In looking at his journal questions, I realized that the questions the counselors had given him were the very issues I’d addressed in my own writings, though I had no one to direct me. Realizing that the need to address these issues must be common among the grieving, I approached our local Hospice chaplain about making grief journals for others, journals that they could receive that would help them through their grief and would also be a beautiful keepsake to pass on to future generations. Her enthusiasm and encouragement helped to birth the journal now in your hands.

This journal also grew out of a story and experience with dragonflies, an encounter that God used to comfort me and others in the days after Chris’ death. That story is included here and explains the significance of the dragonfly on the cover. It is my prayer that this journal will help you as you move through this period of loss and pain and that God will use it to help heal your heart. My thanks go to my niece Meghann Oriet who helped in the planning and preparation of this journal, Woody’s Printing who patiently endured my questions, Nancy Sandgren who painted the cover design and dearly loved my son Chris, my friend Sally Springs who gave me the first journal, my friend Kim Faulkenberry who took me to the grave that day and kept me looking for dragonflies and hope, Vern Womack who told the story to the youth of our church that day, Nancy Willard who told me the story and opened my eyes to God’s many ways of comforting us and to my wonderful family and friends who bless me with love and dragonflies. I especially thank my husband Steve and son David for their love and encouragement, and I thank God for loving me and blessing me with dragonflies and hope.

The Dragonfly Story

Several people have asked me why I wear a dragonfly each day. Even strangers have wondered about the significance of the beautiful dragonfly pins they see on my lapel. It is hard to imagine that God used an insect to comfort me and others in the days following my son’s death, hard to imagine that comfort could come from anywhere. However, on the morning that Chris and his friend Josh died, the youth of our church met for prayer. A pastor friend explained death to them by recalling a dragonfly story. He told the story of a group of water bugs (dragonfly larvae) that lived beneath the surface of the pond. They kept noticing that occasionally one of their group would begin to climb the reeds out of the water and would disappear never to be seen again. They were very curious and agreed with each other that the next one to climb the reeds would return to tell the others where everyone was going. One day, one of the group began climbing a reed. He climbed until he was completely out of the water. He was very tired, so he fell asleep. When he awoke he found that he had beautiful, gossamer wings that lifted him high above the water. He played happily until he remembered his friends at the bottom of the pond. He tried to return to tell them about the wonderful thing that had happened to him, but he could not penetrate the surface of the water. He no longer had a body for living in the water, He finally decided that he would have to wait for them to come to where he was. Then, they would find out for themselves what a wonderful change had come over him.

The pastor concluded the story by saying that God has a beautiful plan for people, too. We can be assured that God has received them in a much better place than this world. The next day, the youth met again to pray and the youth minister told about seeing two dragonflies playing around my back door that very morning and how they reminded her of Chris and Josh playing and enjoying themselves. It also reminded her of the wonderful change that had come over them and that they were indeed happy and complete.

The beautiful story of the dragonfly stuck with many people who heard it. On the day after Chris’ funeral, one of his friends shyly told me her story about an encounter with a dragonfly at the cemetery and asked me if her story was crazy. Unsure of what to say, I told her that God comforts us in ways we can understand at the time, and I believed he had used that dragonfly that day to comfort her. A few weeks later a friend took me to the cemetery to place flowers on Chris’ grave. As we approached the grave, I noticed a blue dragonfly on the dead grass covering the grave but was too distraught to think much about it. My friend held me and prayed with me for a while until I remembered the dragonfly and looked down to see that he was still on the grave. Finally realizing that something special was unfolding, I sat on the ground in front of him. He hopped up on my foot and looked at me tilting his head from side to side. After a few moments he flew behind my back and returned to the grave with another blue dragonfly a little larger than himself. I could not believe my eyes. Josh was a little larger than Chris, and the two of them had said for years that they were going to be roommates at Carolina. These two dragonflies were so much like Chris and Josh that I couldn’t help but smile and feel strangely warmed by their presence and their refusal to leave before I did. Instead of being filled with tears, I was filled with peace and an assurance that Chris and Josh were indeed fine. Was God trying to reassure me through those Carolina blue creatures? I believe He was. I was at Chris’ grave many times that summer but never saw dragonflies there again. Several other friends had interesting dragonfly encounters in the following days. Amazingly, dragonflies are a fad this year and can be found on clothing or jewelry in almost every store. Everywhere I look God seems to be saying, “See how much I love you. I have placed this reminder everywhere that you look to remind you that Chris is safely with me.”

Whenever I see a dragonfly now, I think of my Chris and his friend Josh and the freedom that is now theirs. When I start to sink into despair, the dragonfly reminds me that Chris and Josh are free from the struggles of this world and are truly complete and happy. Surely, God gave us these miracles of nature to remind us that he has a wonderful plan for all of his creation, and we can look forward to a haven far above this mire where we will never have to say goodbye again.

Allison McLean, Southern Pines, NC

(Allison has lovingly donated copies of her grief journal to be included in my bereavement packets going forward–Rosemary)