Kay Cozad

  • What next?

    As I write this, taking in the peaceful sight of the softly falling snow, I ponder what this day has in store for me. What will I accomplish and of what service will I be to others? 

    I must admit, it seems not long ago that the deep and brutal grief over the death of my husband Trent crippled me so that my only thought each morning was not “How can I be of service?” but “How will I survive this day?”

    After learning that Trent had been killed in a car accident and enduring his funeral, I was left, as all bereaved are, to navigate life without my loved one. My life had been turned upside down in a single moment and my compass in life had been broken along with my heart.

    As life pressed on all around me, including the trials and joys of my two preschool-aged daughters, I found myself zapped of energy and faced with an unexpected and swirling cacophony of questions, not the least of which was, “What next?”

    “You’re young,” my well-wishers reminded me in hopes of encouraging me out of my grief, “You’ll soon forget Trent and start a new life.” Oh, how those words rang hollow in my ears. I could not comprehend forgetting Trent or the life we had made together with all its challenges, delights — and future plans. What was I to do now?

    Of course my main objective became how to be the best single mother I could be. Yet even with that, in the depth of my grief, something more profound was calling from within. As I began to face the multifaceted dimensions of my grief I learned that it was okay for me to take quiet time for myself and to ask those difficult, sometimes unfathomable questions. 

    Where was God in all this, I mused? My faith had been shaken to its core. Was this punishment for some ill I had caused? No, I discovered, not punishment, but a lesson in how to grow closer to my Redeemer.

    Who was I now that I was no longer Trent’s wife? Living in a couples’ world brought home the fact that I no longer fit in. The lonely space Trent’s death left in my heart gaped jagged and ever present. 

    How was I to support my family? Trent had been the family’s bread winner, while I stayed home with the girls. How would they fare if I went back to work so soon after losing their father? There were so many questions that only I would be able to discern over time.

    As I processed those questions, I came to realize that Trent’s death had changed me and how I saw the world. Nothing, I learned, would ever be the same. My priorities shifted and the awareness that life truly is fragile and fleeting took shape. Things that once seemed so important before his death held no interest for me now or were no longer relevant. 

    As time progressed and I made my way through the mourning process I began to realize that I wanted to spend my time doing meaningful activities. So, armed with only my faith and the deep abiding love I still held protectively in my heart for the man who had gone before me, I set out to determine my purpose.

    As I ventured out into the world again, I discovered where once I found pleasure in personal achievements and acquiring things, now I looked to deepen my relationships with family and friends. I felt a need to serve — my family, church and community. It didn’t happen over night, but on the painstaking journey I walked, a heightened sense of compassion for others naturally evolved and I began to feel a calling to work with the bereaved. 

    Many of us, after a loss, seek an entirely new life purpose, others a renewal of the passion we held before the death. I know a gentleman who left a high-paying corporate position to direct a nonprofit children’s organization following the sudden death of his father. Another young widow found new passion in presenting educational workshops in her field of nursing. A retired widow found fulfillment in volunteering not only at an area hospital, but also working with flowers, a lifelong passion, at a neighborhood florist.

    Life holds so many questions — and opportunities. As we seek new meaning for our lives after loss, over time hope and healing will open our broken hearts to yet unexplored ventures of purpose and love. We can find fulfillment and new life — and won’t our loved ones be proud!

    Posted on March 16, 2011, to:

  • Birds of a feather

    The process we call grief is a natural but complicated journey. Though the road has been paved by those who have mourned before us, each mourner leaves a unique set of footprints in the wake of a loss.

    I have learned that each distinctive way of grieving is formed, in part, by several factors, including our own personality, belief system, past experience of death, and the circumstances surrounding the death — whether it was sudden or following an illness.

    Our relationship with the deceased, I believe, is another very important factor in how we grieve and seek support. A widow will grieve much differently than a parent who has lost a child. 

    As we each traverse the wilderness of our unique grief we may receive support from our family, friends and relatives. However, frequently, it becomes necessary to seek the support of those who have experienced a similar loss.

    Widows in the support group I facilitate have shared that while they are grateful for the compassion of their family and friends, it is within the confines of the group that they find empathic understanding from other women who have lost their spouses. It seems that knowing another has walked in our shoes offers the hope that can lead us to our future.

    Caroline, a widow of two years, says of the support group, “It’s a club you never want to join, but are so glad there are members already there to welcome you. We are birds of a feather.” She goes on to say that joining the discussions, with specific topics ranging from living in a couple’s world and removing wedding rings to doing his chores, too, and financial issues, brings her insights into her own grief and the hope that she is not alone.

    “My children want to help but don’t know what it’s like to have your better half taken from your life. They naturally want me to get over it. The widows in my group know it’s not about getting over it, but about the process of discovering how life has changed since my husband’s death and how I want to live it now,” she says, adding that the others in the group know from personal experience what she faces. And that, along with her family’s support, has helped her move through her grief in a healthy way.

    My sister Betty and I have had several discussions on supporting others in grief over the years. When my husband Trent died 20 years ago she supported me the best she could with calls and visits. But she admits that at times she felt inadequate due to the fact that she could not know how I felt or what I needed. She had not lost her spouse.

    And though I know well the intimate details of my own style of grieving as well as the generalities of grief, when Betty’s 22-year-old son died four years ago of leukemia, I felt anxious about how to support her simply because I had never lost a child. We offered each other our compassionate hearts, grateful all the while for our friendship and family bond, but Betty, like so many others, also found great solace and hope with other parents who have lost a child.

    Many of us, if we’re honest, will admit that before we experienced a loss in our lives, we did not understand how to support others in grief. An increase in compassion and the need to reach out to others in grief sometimes grows out of the ashes of our own loss. I recall moments in the past when in my own innocence I offered words of comfort that ring hollow to me now. 

    That’s not to say that friends and family who have not experienced a loss can’t support a grieving loved one. An awareness that mourners walk a very personal path to healing may help ease the burden of how to help. Simply hearing the words, “I don’t know what you are feeling, but I am here for you in any way you need me,” may just provide that snippet of hope your loved one needs to know he has your compassionate, nonjudgmental support as he walks his own unique path of grief.

    Posted on February 15, 2011, to:

  • A picture is worth a thousand words

    At a recent widow’s support group I had asked each member to bring a photo of her husband to share with the group. As the widows passed their treasured pictures around their circle of allies, loving descriptions of the character these beloved men embodied were told and retold.
    As the exercise progressed many of their faces flushed with the joy of a blessed memory of what once was the substance of life. Those photos were the incarnation of past triumphs and conquered challenges shared within the intimate relationship boundaries only spouses know.
    I’ve lost count of the number of times a photo has stirred a long dormant memory of my life with my deceased husband Trent that had the ability to bring a chuckle or perhaps a tear to the present moment. But they always inspired me. I have learned over the years since my husband’s death that either is an acceptable response to a past that I cherish still.
    Photos, and yes even meaningful music, touching movies and traditional family events, have the power to elicit fond and sometimes bittersweet memories that when acknowledged help us move toward healing. They are a link that connects us to our past and may offer us a tangible form of comfort during our times of deepest grief.
    With healing comes new life where the memory of our loved one finds is rightful place. And as new life events unfold it becomes a natural part of interaction with friends and loved ones to remember those who have passed before us. This is the way families and friends keep their loved one’s memory alive.
    Unfortunately many times in those early days of grief, some find a renewed sense of loss as they revisit the past through photography. Reliving with pictures the tender moments of life before the death of their loved one brings so much sorrow and regret that they turn from the challenge.  For some the photos represent all that has been lost, including the promise of what could have been.
    But healthy grief work is about touching the pain when it arises and exploring the ways it changes us. Allowing ourselves to honor any memory, even unsolicited, is paramount to healing. And for many of us that takes time and requires facing myriad of emotions. I’ve learned that we must be gentle with ourselves as we remember our lost loved ones no matter what evokes the memory.
    It seems, over time, as we do the work of grief, memories become our stronghold. They provide a guidepost for what is to come. Past images of love and laughter also give us a reason to go on. My memories of Trent’s love and commitment to his family shown in those silly family shots are the foundation on which lays the strength of my family.
    It’s never too late to share a silly photo and a touching story with a loved one who mourns a loss. As time moves on, those memories become part of the stuff of everyday life.
    Photographs are a gift that have the power to sustain us in moments of grief or bring us joy in the remembering. The memories they invoke are, in part, what defines who we are now and who we are becoming as we mourn our loss. Each cherished memory may eventually inspire us with the confidence to face the future. You see, our hope lies not in the pictures of the past, but in the promise of the future.

    Posted on January 19, 2011, to:

  • New beginnings

    The holiday season, with all its rich tradition and merriment, sometimes brings with it a need to reflect on times gone by. Gathering with family and friends inspires reminiscence of old — a noble endeavor — but when you are mourning the loss of a loved one the emotional sway of grief can change the story of the past year considerably.

    In the first year of grief, we generally focus on the empty space at the holiday table or the events that occurred just a short time ago when our loved one was present with us. There is perhaps a deep longing to remember our loved one and share our grief with those with which we gather.

    Many of us have found that inviting others into our grief through ceremony works especially well during the holidays. It creates a sacred environment where all are welcome to speak of those who have gone before us, mingling unexpected laughter and necessary tears.

    My husband Trent died in September, so the holidays seemed to rush upon me with determined ferocity that first year. Though I felt I was moving in a daze, volleying between the deep heart wrenching reality of Trent’s death and mind-numbing shock, I needed to speak of him and hear his name.

    I recall that first Christmas, now 20 years past, when I asked to read a tender prayer I had written before Christmas dinner that included my gratitude for the members of my family and the ways Trent had enriched my life. I worried a bit about how it would be received, but felt compelled to offer my thoughts.

    I was delighted to note the collective sigh of relief my loved ones expressed as we sat down to our family feast following the prayer. Antidotal stories were passed along with the honey ham and sweet potato pie quite naturally then and the banter warmed my broken heart. The prayer had given them the permission they needed to speak of Trent.

    After quiet reflection during the end of year festivities, there naturally follows the hopeful anticipation of things yet to be. Many of us rally to start afresh with the coming of the new year. We hear from loved ones, “Let it go, it’s a new year.” But how do we find a new beginning when grief has a strong hold that renders us ill equipped to look to the future?

    I have learned that finding a new beginning is not necessarily about immediate change. I’ve tried imposing those customary resolutions on what I thought I needed to achieve on my grief journey each year — cleaning out my husband’s cherished belongings, removing my wedding rings, crying only once a week. These goals gave me direction, but as the weeks and months of my early grief progressed, they were rendered flat and uninspired.

    There is a time to move forward and a time to be still. Each step we take on our journey of grief is a new beginning. Each step is part of an evolution toward healing and living fully again.

    Experiencing my grief in all its fury and solitude, and allowing myself to follow my heart as to the changes that would occur naturally or by choice created the healing that I worked toward. Looking back was, for me, part of the healing. And so too was waiting for the right time to accomplish my grief work.

    In the end it’s not really so much about letting go, but more a “moving along” with the need to reconcile the loss into our lives. Each new year does bring the promise of some new beginning. And for those in mourning that can be the healing of a heart.

    Posted on December 21, 2010, to:

  • Surviving the holidays 

    Grieving the loss of a loved one is never an easy task. And the journey may become even more daunting as the holidays approach, with the anticipation of seasonal celebrations without a loved one almost paralyzing to some. 

    I faced my first Christmas without my husband, who brought cheer in a big way to every holiday, with a heavy heart and a cascade of emotions. As I walked numbly through the motions of established holiday traditions, my two young daughters were just as confused as I. We stumbled through the gatherings, crying all the way, that first year. And I am not ashamed to admit that I was relieved when the often bemoaned January dol- drums once again took over our days.

    The second holiday season found me more prepared as I began to understand my grief and reestablish my family as “three.” Many of our traditions and gatherings continued to bring us a sense of the season, however, I soon learned that we had the ability — and the need — to establish new traditions that would work for us. 

    The girls and I began to take quiet times away from the hustle-bustle of Christmas to read or cry or just remember their father. The expression of our shared grief lifted the burden just a bit.

    Our favorite holiday tradition even now, 20 years later, is to light a candle for Trent and watch home videos of his antics. We connect with him in our laughter and our gratitude. 

    We gave ourselves permission to do what we needed to do to survive. And we tried to surround ourselves with those who understood our need to remember and just “be.”

    For those who are newly bereaved and are facing the deep longing of your loss, I’d like to share a few tips for holiday survival that I have learned along my journey of grief:

    • Plan ahead. Be aware of the feelings, from reluctance to glee, that may rise up, and how you and others will respond. Have an action plan to take care of yourself.

    • Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself permission to take a break from the activities and festivities. Find a quiet place to just “be.” Rest your body periodically to maintain energy levels.

    • Give yourself and others permission to talk about your loved one. Family and friends may be reluctant to speak about your loss, but when you break the ice, they will most likely join in. If some choose not to, remember, each grief journey is unique and worthy of honoring.

    • Don’t feel obligated to attend any function with which you are uncomfortable. However, be mindful to resist isolating yourself during this special time of celebrating family and friends.

    • Following regular traditions may be painful without your loved one. It’s okay to eliminate any activities for a time and to establish a new tradition or two, if you like.

    • Allow yourself to feel all the feelings, from sorrow to joy, that come with anticipating a holiday. Find healthy ways to express them.

    • As you recognize your feelings and work to express them, consider seeking support from others. Talk with your family and friends or join a support group and ask for what you need.

    • Give yourself permission to have fun during the holidays even in your grief. Connect with your loved one through your joy.
    • Find a way to remember your loved one in a special way for the holidays. Light a candle at a family gathering, make a special ornament or photo album, say a prayer or invite others to tell stories. You loved one can be forever part of your holiday experience, just in a different way.

    • Discover what you are truly grateful for. Write your blessings down or tell a special friend or family member. Acknowledging gratitude, especially for your loved one, warms the heart.

    Sandy Goodman, author of “Love Never Dies: A Mother’s Journey from Loss to Love,” wrote this wish for Christmas, “… My wish for you is this: That you find a quiet moment during the sometimes magical but often horrendous season upon us and relax. … Close your eyes and envision your friend, child, parent, sibling, spouse, grandparent or partner. … That you accept that dead doesn’t mean ‘gone.’”

    I couldn’t have said it better myself.

    Posted on November 23, 2010, to: