That first year was a blur, they say, an unreal realness punctuated by sobs, screams and a sense that even the simplest acts like getting out of bed or smiling or breathing were now beyond their abilities.
Not anymore. Not after losing a child.
“I felt like it was a dream,” said Liz Manning, whose son Phil Sisneros, 22, died of a drug overdose the day before Mother’s Day 2014. “It was like being at a beach and being pounded by strong surf with a riptide just a step away. The waves of grief hit pretty hard early on and the riptide tried sucking me in constantly. It was exhausting. There were days when I actually thought, I can’t do this. And then the next minute passed and the riptide receded a bit.”
And so it goes, the grief receding then cresting, again and again, in a place split between the day before a child’s death and the day after.
Today, for me, is the first “day before” since my son Devin Glenn died of a heroin overdose at age 23.
When March 8 came and death forever changed my life, I found comfort in cards and letters, thoughts and prayers, casseroles and hugs. And I found the way forward with the guidance of these gritty, gracious parents who were living their “day after.”
I’ve asked some of them to offer the wisdom they shared with me then and still. In the wise words of Linda and Al Vigil, whose 18-year-old daughter Mia took her life in 1984, grief requires special shoes — old shoes worn by those who have walked the path before you, shoes torn, tumbled, dried and softened by tears.
“You have to walk the walk to understand the walk,” the Vigils say.
It helps to know we do not walk this path alone.
On Memorial Day weekend in 1999, Joan and Wayne Shirley began their journey after their 17-year-old son, Kevin, was gunned down along with two friends, Luis Garcia and Matthew Hunt, as they headed home from a party in the East Mountains. Their homicides made front-page headlines, their grief forced into public view.
The first anniversary of their son’s death was shared in a memorial service at Wilson Stadium with the other two families, the community and a lot of undercover detectives.
The public spotlight has dimmed now, but the grief remains, if differently.
“This is a long journey,” Joan Shirley said. “It doesn’t get better overnight. It takes years. Research that I have read and through working with grieving parents for 16 years I have seen that most parents who have experienced the death of a child can take up to eight years before they are able to come to a positive resolution about the death. They finally realize that their lives will go on, they will experience joy, love and peace again while taking their child with them into the future. It’s a new normal, an OK normal and a healthy thing to go on.”
At times, Georgia Martinez Otero wasn’t sure she could go on after her son Patrick, 18, died in 2009 of toxic leukoencephalopathy, a rare and sometimes fatal brain disease caused by smoking heroin.
“I remember early on making sure the windows were closed and screaming my heart out to relieve some of the pain and anxiety,” she said.
What helped her most was her faith, her family and joining a support group for families who had lost a child through drugs or alcohol where there was no judgment and plenty of shared experiences.
“Sharing my experience with others has been very helpful,” she said. “The hope is to prevent others from going through what we’ve gone through.”
That’s also been healing for Jennifer Weiss-Burke, who founded the Serenity Mesa Youth Recovery Center after her son Cameron, 18, died of a heroin overdose in 2011.
“I recommend surrounding yourself with people who have experienced loss and are dealing or have dealt with grief. Not necessarily a support group but a group of people you can be with, go to dinner with and just talk to who understand what you are going through,” she said. “It’s a comfort to be able to bring up your loved one and know it won’t make them uncomfortable.”
For Terry and Lawrence Vargas, healing from the loss of their son Lawrence Charles, who was 23 when he was murdered in 2008, has meant helping others by channeling their grief into positive outcomes, practicing acts of kindness and compassion and giving back, including through their art and through the Lawrence Charles Vargas Shoes for Kids and Acts of Compassion project.
“Grief is a journey that never ends,” Terry Vargas said. “But so is the love we will always have for our babies. It’s because we loved so hard that it can hurt so bad.”
Marian and Steven Herrera lost their son, Air Force Maj. Marc Herrera, 37, to homicide in 2012.
“Nothing has been or will ever be the same as before,” Marian Herrera said. “I am grateful that I had my son as a part of my life for 37 years and 50 weeks. I have been blessed in more ways than I can count after the most devastating event in my life. And I have survived.”
May we all do the same.
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Liz Manning, mother of Phil Sisneros, 22, drug overdose, 2014
I fought against thinking that some day I would be able to feel happiness again. To laugh again, to feel joy. I fought it. I didn’t feel like I could or should be happy.
But we can be happy again, and we should, but only when it’s time — and it could be a very long time.
Four years, and I feel like I’m on the ladder getting out of hell. Four years, and I feel like I’m on the first rung on that ladder, still in hell but on the ladder and one step farther along than in the beginning of this nightmare. There are days now that I can laugh. Days that I can feel joy and anticipation of good things. These are the days I can remember Phil and still feel calm and know that he is safe and loved and I will see him again.
I think people who haven’t experienced a loss such as ours try to understand and, of course, help us. There is really no way anyone could imagine the feeling unless one has experienced it.
People are kind and want to help but sometimes don’t know what to say or if they should say anything. I think they don’t want to upset us or remind us of the loss.
I would suggest that people bring up the past and our loved ones. I want people to remember him. Don’t worry about bringing up painful memories — those are already there. We carry them around every single day. It’s so nice to have people tell you that they are thinking about you and your loved one. To this day I love when friends or family bring up Phil.
In time, we will probably look like the same people — same smile, same laugh, same silliness. But know we are different now. We carry the sadness of a loss greater than any word could describe. But we carry on, one day at a time, sometimes one minute at a time.
Marian Herrera, mother of Marc Herrera, 37, homicide, 2012
About nine months after Marc’s murder, both Steve and I became quite distressed knowing the one-year anniversary was approaching. We really were still numb and in shock. We were still in disbelief. Couldn’t even comprehend that Marc really was dead. I just wanted it to be over because I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know what to do. The horrific circumstances that began a year earlier — that you never expected to be in — just continue ad infinitum. We just muddled our way through that first anniversary, still devastated and overcome with grief.
I have found that time really does help. Year 2 was easier than 1, year 3 easier than 2, etc. Now on the anniversary of his murder, I choose to remember who he was, what he stood for.
My most difficult and sorrowful time is his birthday, July 13. I feel the pain of his loss much greater then, always remembering the Saturday afternoon that he was born, still thinking he should be this old. What would he be doing now? Where would he be living now? I grieve more for all of the things that were stolen away from me on his birthday.
My best advice for anyone going through the grieving process is to keep their faith and do not become hopeless. We all will continue to have choices. As Marc’s mother, I could choose to make an unspeakable event better or I could choose to make it worse. I opted for better. On the hardest and most difficult days, I always remind myself that God had a plan. God had a purpose. I still believe that today, even though I may not know what His plan and purpose are. My faith in God has gotten me through.
And even though most can’t believe it early in the grieving stages — my first two years were extremely difficult — you will get through it. And you will be OK. Nothing will ever be the same.
You will never be the same. But you can still be OK and live a joyful life after grieving the loss of your loved one, however long that may take.
Jennifer Weiss-Burke, mother of Cameron Weiss, 18, heroin overdose, 2011
The first year was a blur for me. I don’t remember much, even though I went through a huge amount of change in my personal life. The anticipation of the anniversary was worse than the actual day. I just remember wanting to escape and get through it. The weeks leading up to the anniversary were painful as I remembered, in detail, everything that happened in the weeks and days leading up to Cameron’s death. It was like a play by play of every moment in my head.
Subsequent years have been pretty much the same. The weeks leading up to the anniversary are the roughest and the actual day is never as bad as what I think it’s going to be. I usually try to distract myself by being out of town or doing something to keep me busy. The only time I’ve actually done anything special on the anniversary of Cameron’s death is on the fifth anniversary where I held a memorial and we did a butterfly release. I would actually like to do something every year but whenever the anniversary approaches, I find an excuse not too.
There is no right or wrong way to deal with grief. You can read every book in the bookstore and have a plan for how you are going to deal with it and get through it, but you have no idea how you are going to handle it until you are living it. Grief is all consuming and unlike anything else that you may experience in life. It’s also something that is a part of life and almost everyone at some point will lose someone they love and will experience grief. It’s inevitable. If you love someone or something, you will grieve when they die. Grief is the price of love.
I also think it’s easy to be consumed by grief and to allow it to take over your entire life. People experiencing grief need to be careful of this and not let it completely overshadow everything else. It’s easy to sink into a deep dark hole and much harder to stay on the surface and continue to tread water. You have to make a conscious effort each day to stay above water.
Georgia Martinez Otero, mother of Patrick Martinez, 18, heroin-caused brain disease, 2009
When Patrick got his first paycheck working at Smith’s, he brought home some beautiful yellow roses for me. After he died, I bought fresh yellow roses weekly for a year.
I’ve given many notebooks to people for them to journal. Writing a letter to my loved one helped me.
I would like those who have not experienced this to know that it’s OK to bring up our children — in fact, please do. You are not going to bring up something that is not already there. We don’t want our loved ones to be forgotten. I want to hear stories and memories about Patrick.
Also, it helps if you just listen without interjecting.
I am a volunteer with New Mexico Donor Services. I have been able to share Patrick’s story and encourage others to register to be an organ donor. I call the people at Donor Services my donor family. To this day, they provide me with a lot of emotional support. My own brother died waiting for a liver. It helps me a lot to hear how well some of Patrick’s recipients are doing and to talk to other recipients. I am so, so grateful that his situation allowed itself for healthy, viable organ donation.
Terry Vargas, mother of Lawrence Charles Vargas, 23, homicide, 2008
On the first anniversary of his death, I lit the candle on his table — a reminder of his presence in our family. I still do.
We decorated his resting place where “Love Never Ends” is engraved.
After a Mass in his honor, our family and friends gathered at our home to share his favorite meal: Nana’s red chile, beans and rice. “Lawrence Stories” were shared as we laughed, reminisced and shed some tears. I asked that all who knew him to do an act of kindness/compassion in his memory.
A candlelight vigil was held by his friends at the parking garage where he was killed. Sad, beautiful, bittersweet.
My advice on dealing with grief: Give yourself the time needed and permission to grieve. There is no set time or manner in which to grieve. Grief can be very private and personal or shared or public throughout the process.
Channel your grief into positive outcomes for yourself and for others as you heal by practicing acts of kindness/compassion, by giving back, by helping others heal from their grief or adversity as you seek peace.
Look for signs. They will come, if you believe they will. He sends them to me all the time, but we must look for them.
Hold on tight to your faith and to your loved ones here on earth. Reach out and embrace their love and support as they grieve with you. Celebrate your loved one’s life often — whether it’s a private celebration or an old or new ritual — a prayer, a quiet walk or a gathering with others who love you. As long as you live, keep their memory alive.
Joan Shirley, mother of Kevin Shirley, 17, homicide, 1999
I still stay up until 11:30 p.m. on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend to remember the time Kevin was shot to death and try to go up to the memorial at the site where they were killed.
Nobody grieves in the same way, in the same amount of time or even close to what the textbooks say about grief. Grief is a normal reaction to an abnormal loss. It’s overwhelming, excessively painful, makes you want to die, too. We expect our kids to outlive us, be there to care for us when we need help and to carry on our family’s memories and traditions. Death ends that.
People who are grieving are not sick. They can become overwhelmed with grief symptoms that feel like illness and can manifest into physical and mental health issues, but mostly they need people to walk alongside of them as companions rather than trying to fix or bully them into trying to heal faster than is possible for them.
They will not get better, but they will regain balance and hope in their lives in time.
Being that Kevin was killed in May, we established a memorial scholarship in his name at our church that recognizes a senior who has overcome some adversity in their lives, be it physical, mental, spiritual or emotional obstacles and have graduated while still staying connected with their church. It is a great way to bring a positive meaning to the senselessness of his death since he was not able to graduate.
Linda and Al Vigil, parents of Mia Vigil, 18, suicide, 1984
Our middle daughter Mia took her life on January 5, so we tried to mark the first-year anniversary of her death and first Christmas at the same time. Linda fixed the special meal. Al placed the usual five chairs around the dining table. We sat down for Christmas dinner. There sat the father, the mother, the older daughter Melinda and the youngest daughter Marlo.
And there sat the empty chair.
We looked at each other and turned our eyes to the Mia Chair. Then tears started. It seemed that we talked about our Mia for hours. We never ate. The dinner was refrigerated or tossed.
Thirty-three years later, we still set our dinner table with the empty Mia Chair. We no longer have that immense, overwhelming sense of deep grief. But we will always mourn her loss. The spirit that Mia became after her death will always be with us.
For those who are struggling with grief over the loss of a loved one, forget the advice like “You’ll soon be over it.” Or “They are in a better place.” Or “You’ll be a better, stronger person.”
You have lost someone you deeply love and you are forever changed.
We thank God that with time, once again, a person with deep grief can learn to live, to love and to even enjoy a movie. The time you take and need to use to grieve is only yours to measure.
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UpFront is a front-page news and opinion column. Comment directly to Joline at 823-3603, jkrueger@abqjournal.com or follow her on Twitter @jolinegkg.
