Taking Baby Steps on the Grief Journey

We’re right in the middle of baseball season. One of our family’s favorite pastimes was to attend the Giants games at the old Candlestick Park in San Francisco, where we’d shiver in the bleachers as we cheered on our team. I still picture Steve with his Giants’ cap, Giants’ sweatshirt, and baseball mitt in hand (just in case he was in a position to catch a wild ball that was hit into the stands). Our daughters and I were always more interested in the antics of the other fans, in finding that elusive malt vendor, and in just staying warm as the fog invariably rolled in over the edges of the stadium as the game wore on. The best part of the game was always the Seventh Inning Stretch, where we and the entire stadium would rise to our feet and sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at the top of our lungs.

It’s been six years since he died, and it’s been really hard to attend any ballgames without Steve — I think we’ve only been to a couple since then. He was so embedded in our experiences and memories of the games, and we found it extremely difficult to be there without him. In fact, we left well before the seventh inning, because the memories and lack of his presence with us were just too much to take.

Well, as I recently listened to the baseball stats announced on my favorite radio station, I realized that finally, I feel ready to return to the ballpark to enjoy a Giants game. And with that realization came a parallel one:  I’ve come a long way since Steve died, since those early days of grief when I felt that my life had been ripped apart. 

I vividly remember that searing pain I felt during the final stages of his illness and then even more so after he died, when the shock and numbness wore off. At that time, I had the horrifying thought that my life would always be this way, filled with pain, tears, and feelings I’d never even imagined were possible. It was such a dark time and I could believe that I would ever feel better again, that the hole in my heart would ever heal and that I would ever feel whole again.

Healing a broken heart doesn’t (and can’t) (and shouldn’t) happen in an instant. When a spouse dies, all those years of loving someone, sharing a life together, and sharing hopes and dreams for the future is torn away. It would in fact be unnatural if we could simply take a magic pill and feel instantly healed. I’ve discovered that a lot of patience, energy, and time are required to recover. But the good news is “Yes, we can heal.” Despite those initial feelings of hopelessness, as I’ve done my grief work, I’ve found that I can feel whole again. I can feel joy again.

For those who have lost a spouse, the grief journey is not a single event, but rather an ongoing process. It took a long time for me to realize that healing was not about hitting home runs, but rather getting singles.

By this I mean taking “baby steps,” and feeling good about our progress, however slow or tiny it seems at the time. A few years ago one of my friends who is also a widow started walking to relieve stress. This evolved to running, and finally she found herself working up to a half-marathon to raise funds for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. She said her initial goal was just to get outside and experience the sunshine, and as she built up strength and stamina, she gradually added small goals each day, to walk a bit further, then to run a bit longer. When she started, she says she could never have envisioned herself running in a half-marathon, and if she’d had that goal in mind at the outset, she likely would have given up because it seemed so unattainable. She says that goals are a good thing, but a dose of realism when starting out is even better.

I have come to think that the healing journey is like the running or like playing baseball. We survivors of spouse loss should not expect that by starting to jog, we will be ready to run in the next Olympic games, or to go from the minors to the major leagues and win MVP in the next All Star game. It’s all about the healing steps we take, and also about acknowledging our progress along the way.

At some points it feels like I’ve blinked my eyes and Steve disappeared, and in other cases, it feels like decades since he was here. Time is elastic, and calendars can be slippery. The process of healing takes a lot of work over time, but I found that if I began with the relatively easier tasks, starting small with the “low hanging fruit,” I was able to build up my own strength and endurance. At times I am actually quite amazed at how far I’ve come on the healing pathway.

Some of my baby steps that you might want to try:

• Writing in my grief journal. At first it was just some lists, but these evolved into deeper, more revelatory explorations of my evolving feelings. Now, I’ve filled a few journals, and plans to do even more. Amazing to re-read the early stuff!
• Exercising. After Steve died, I felt so stiff, exhausted, and sore all the time. But I started doing some simple yoga stretching. This has evolved to a full hour of high-energy Kundalini yoga each morning.
• Singing. Steve and I used to love to sing together, and after he died, I found my voice had completely dried up. I not only didn’t have the desire to sing, but I really couldn’t carry a tune to save my life, not even with well-loved church hymns. Then, a couple of years after Steve died, Santa delivered a karaoke machine and a few sing-along CDs. Initially only the girls enjoyed it, but they eventually convinced me to join the fun. At this point, I’ve turned into a karaoke junkie, and can sing better than ever, hitting high notes I only dreamed about in the past.
• Making connections. I felt really isolated after Steve died. Although my friends surrounded me with warmth and invitations, I felt so numb and cold inside, and more than anything so exposed and vulnerable. I really didn’t feel strong enough to be out, especially in large groups of people, but I knew it wasn’t healthy to stay holed up at home by myself. So I took a baby step and started by going to a movie with a friend from my grief workshop. Eventually I felt able to join in larger gatherings (hint: call a friend and ask if you can tag along so you’re not arriving alone). Now, I am pleased to say that I can handle most social gatherings. Do I miss Steve at my side? Of course. But at this point, I really do feel comfortable on my own. And - okay this is a news flash - I find myself actually open to the possibility of perhaps having someone new at my side in the future. Six years ago I could never have imagined feeling this way!

What baby steps have you taken on your grief journey? How have you changed since your spouse died? What do you consider the “singles” you’ve gotten in the ballpark? Have you had any home runs? We’d love to hear your experiences!

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Nature’s Remedy - Allowing the Universe to Embrace Us in Our Pain and Need

Responding to  How Do I Cope After the Death of My Husband?, Annalise wrote:  “When does the pain ease off??  Two months today and getting worse.”

Beverly Chantalle McManus, Grief Companion, responds:  Annalise, first of all, please accept my deepest compassion for your loss.  The death of a spouse is one of the hardest things anyone will have to go through, and only those who have experienced it can really understand the depth of pain and loss you are experiencing.  We’re glad you reached out, and hope that knowing you’re not alone will help ease the pain and loneliness.

I wish I could give you a clever formula that would accurately determine when the pain will ease off.  It would be so nice to have something that figured it all out for us, perhaps by multiplying the length of the relationship by the intensity of love felt, and of course taking into account the type of death - whether a long, drawn-out illness that at least provided a bit of time for preparation, or a sudden, unexpected death like a car accident or heart attack.  Of course, such an equation would also need to consider the survivor’s mental state, financial situation, spiritual background, and physical strength.  In addition, to be accurate it should also include the presence or absence of a support network, and whether they were actually helping or hindering the grieving. 

Yes, such a formula and its solution would be useful when we are feeling such intense pain.  Unfortunately, it would be impossible because of all the variables involved.  And the fact that even after the death of our spouse, things continue to change. 

Each grief journey has its own timeline and follows its own path.  There are a few stepping stones along that path that you and nearly all grievers will encounter, but each of these stepping stones will be approached and accomplished in its own way, according to your background, beliefs, and resources. 

Grief requires time and energy.  It doesn’t just “happen.”  Right now you are feeling intense pain, and I can promise you that at times in the future, you will feel even worse.  But I can also promise you that if you do your grief work, you will gradually feel better.  You will become stronger.  And you will incrementally begin to find joy in your life again. 

How do we do our “grief work?” 

Grief work means feeling all the feelings we are experiencing, as painful and unfamiliar as they may be.  By leaning into the pain, and even wallowing in it at times, we are giving our broken heart its due respect.  The only reason it hurts so much is because we loved so much - there is a direct correlation between the amount of pain experienced in grief and the depth of the love we felt for the person who died. 

It is a true paradox:  the more we cry and allow ourselves to feel the pain, the faster and more completely we will heal.  Those who say, “You’ve cried enough already,” are mistakenly trying to short-circuit a very necessary healing process.  And only we who are on our grief journey can determine how long we need to cry.  (We know when it’s time to stop because we no longer feel like crying.)  The tears accompany a cascade of healing hormones that affect every cell in our bodies, and after a good cry, it is amazing how much better we feel. 

Tears are but one of nature’s many remedies to help those with broken hearts.  As I have done my grief work, something that has really helped is spending time outdoors, and allowing nature’s remedy to embrace me, giving me the strength I need to keep moving forward. 

What I’ve discovered:

• Finding solace under a tree, at the beach, by the lake, in my garden, on a mountain, in a park, or even at my dining room table with a single flower - all of these really helped me reconnect with myself and pull my shattered self back together.
• At times, I felt compelled to simply lie on the grass, and let the earth absorb my pain and at the same time, give me a dose of mother earth’s abundant energy that is there for each of us.
• Walking, whether on a sandy beach or a trail carpeted with pine-needles or even an air-conditioned shopping mall, really helped. The physical act of walking, of putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward, was very healing at times. I would use these walks to reconnect with memories of my life with Steve, and to envision a future where he wasn’t there. The longer I walked, the more I was filled with the assurance that I could go forward without him at my side.
• Pets can be incredibly helpful in providing comfort and love during our dark times. If you don’t have one (and your living situation allows you to), consider getting a dog or cat to be your companion. Since you may not have the energy to train a lively puppy or kitten, consider adopting a more mature animal, who is already trained, and who can provide you with many hours of comfort and friendship.

The most important aspect of your grief journey is to be compassionate with yourself.  Give yourself the time and space you need to really grieve, and you will be giving a gift to your future self - the gift of healing.  Even though you are struggling with what feels like overwhelming pain right now, please believe me when I say you can get through this.  You have within yourself the strength to take it one day (or even one hour or one minute) at a time.  As you do your grief work, you will slowly notice yourself feeling a bit better each day.  Oh, there will always be days that are just downright sad, and nothing anyone says will change that.  But as you move forward, you’ll have a lot more “up” days than “down” days, and you’ll know you are experiencing the gift of healing. 

How have you harnessed nature’s remedies to get through the pain and loneliness after your spouse died?  Your experiences help others trying to figure out what to do next.  We invite you to share your ideas and stories here. 

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Journaling My Grief Experience

My birthday took place a week after Steve died.  Although I did not feel like celebrating, my family members thoughtfully brought some gifts over, one of which was a journal.  At the time, I gave it little thought.  I was so consumed with grief, shock and pain, and the idea of sitting down to write couldn’t have been further from my mind.

However, a few months later, as I began to settle into my new life without Steve, I started panicking at times, because given how my entire memory bank now seemed to be completely fragmented, with huge chunks missing completely, as I began recalling memories of Steve I worried that if I didn’t write them down, I might forget them completely.

My first journal entries were lists of things I didn’t want to forget about Steve.  These covered the waterfront, from how he laughed when watching cartoons to the little poem he used to say when he found stray pennies.  I filled several pages of the journal with random entries as they occurred to me, purely stream of consciousness stuff.  I quickly decided this journal was for my eyes only, and thus I could fill it with whatever I chose to.

After the random memories, I began making lists, starting with a list of things I really missed about Steve.  These were sometimes things I didn’t even realize he did, but which were so painfully apparent in his absence.  And sometimes these were things that were private and intimate, and that filled my heart with longing and my eyes with tears.  After doing the list of things I missed, I realized that as painful as it was to admit, there were certain things about Steve that I didn’t miss.  I decided to make a list of those, and in so doing, was able to gain some useful perspective on our life together.  And I realized that there were many things I’d failed to tell Steve, and so decided to make a list of these as well.  This list primarily focused on my gratitude for the wonderful guy Steve was.  But it also included some painful things that I wish I’d been able to discuss with him in person, at the time the incidents occurred.

These lists filled many pages of the journal and even now, several years after his death, I add to the lists.

After making lots of lists, I began writing letters to Steve, voicing my concerns, worries, and thrills, whether with our daughters, over work, concerning our house, or about other matters.  These were pretty rambling, and although sometimes I’d begin very focused on one topic, my thoughts would diverge into many other areas and I’d find that I’d filled many pages before I could stop writing.  These writings were very cathartic, and using them to focus on my inner life helped me retain balance in my outer life.

A few months after Steve’s death, I began attending a grief workshop, and we were asked to write our responses to reflection questions each week, and then to continue writing on that topic once we were home.  I found these topics (on issues like dealing with anger, guilt, loneliness, stress, and more) good jumping-off points for my journal writing, and after writing for a bit, I always felt a sense of release and well being.  Not that the writing was easy, mind you!  It was often accompanied by heart wrenching feelings, and lots of tears.  But the journal provided a forum to collect my thoughts, as well as a compassionate listener who withheld comments as I poured my soul onto the pages.

As my husband, Steve had also filled the role of companion and nursemaid to me during those thankfully rare times when I was under the weather.  As such, he always offered numerous suggestions of remedies or things to do that might help me to swiftly recover.  Following Steve’s death, I began having major anxiety attacks, because for the first time in my adult life, I was completely alone.  I worried about what would happen if I became gravely ill - what would I do?  I no longer had someone to remind me to take my vitamins when I was sick, or to drink extra water when I got a headache, or to meditate and breathe deeply when I was feeling stressed out.  I used some of the journal’s pages to make lists of helpful tips for dealing with certain scenarios, primarily health-related, such as how to handle a migraine, what to do when I felt like my knee was going out, and steps to take when I felt a dark depression descending over me.  I’ve referred to these lists many times over the past few years, and somehow, they help me feel connected to Steve, even though they were written a while after his death.

What I’ve learned:

• Initially I failed to date my entries, but soon realized that I wouldn’t be able to remember when certain things were added, so went back in and loosely dated the early stuff, and now I always date every new entry.
• Writing things down does curtail the squirrelly mind that often wants to take over, with all the “coulda-shoulda-woulda” thinking that accompanies the death of a spouse.  After writing down the scenarios and thinking behind certain decisions, I was able to quiet my mind from its ceaseless looping of speculations and questioning past decisions.  For example, I had been continually berating myself for not insisting that Steve seek out some kind of alternative healthcare regime to treat the cancer.  But then I’d remember, “Oh, but Steve didn’t have one iota of faith in such healthcare systems, and insisted on staying the course with his oncologist and surgeon.”
• I initially felt guilty because I didn’t write more often, but then realized I wrote as often as I needed to.  I also found myself writing little notes to Steve in the journal on the anniversaries of certain dates, as well as around holidays.  Journaling has helped me transition through the loneliness of those special days, feeling less isolated.
• Re-reading my journals, I’ve realized that often it was the very act of writing, of putting pen to paper, that was healing, many times more so than what I actually wrote about.  If you are wondering where or how to begin your grief journal, I’d like you to consider just writing a short piece on something not too emotionally charged.  You don’t need a fancy bound journal, nor one that is published specifically for grief (although these can be helpful).  Just grab some paper and a pen, and write about what the day is like today… and then let your pen be guided by your feelings and your memories and see where it takes you.

Looking back, I have discovered that my journals serve as a very useful benchmark for how much I’ve changed since Steve’s death.  At this point, I sometimes feel like a different person, and as I re-read some of my early entries, I realize that it is true, I AM a completely different person, and have grown enormously in the time since his departure from this life.  Journaling helps me stay close to him, yet also helps me see the tremendous growth and change that has taken place over time.

How has journaling helped you deal with the death of your spouse?  Do you journal at a specific time, or just when the need arises?  What tips do you have for others who are embarking on their grief journals?  We’d love to hear about your journaling experiences!  Do share!

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Ideas for Widows or Widowers with Teenagers who are Grieving the Loss of their Parent

This week’s column was written by my 24-year-old daughter Emily.  I had asked her for suggestions for widows or widowers with teenagers who are grieving the loss of their parent, at the same time the surviving parent is grieving the loss of spouse.

My father died nearly six years ago of esophageal cancer, when I was 18 and in my first year of college.  Looking back on that time, I feel as though it happened both yesterday and decades ago.  Death acts as a supernova to memories; seconds stand crystal clear illumined while whole weeks are a blur.  I’m so grateful that I am blessed with my mom and sister in my life.  While we have all traveled our own individual grief journeys, I think that we have been invaluable fellow travelers, meeting on the road and warning about rocky passages ahead or sharing in warmth.  Honoring the individuality of each of our relationships to my dad has allowed us to share in the commonalities of losing someone each of us loved dearly.

Children and teenagers deal with their grief and emotions differently than adults.  This may seem odiously obvious when thinking of how teens confront contemporary issues - obsessing over objects of affection, hysteria over clothes, the desire to listen to the same song ten million times on family car trips - but is easy to forget when experiencing a child’s reaction to the death of a parent.  Seemingly dismissive or facetious attitudes often conceal a deep well of emotion.

I know that during the time my father was ill and after he died, I compartmentalized my feelings a great deal as a coping strategy. A teenager’s head and heart are not always connected, and although I received straight A’s that first semester in college, I found it nearly impossible to cry in front of people.  If I hadn’t possessed a cool exterior, it would have been impossible to carry on, to say goodbye to my Daddy after a weekend visit from college without ignoring the possibility this would be the last time I saw him. Perhaps because I seemed “fine” on the surface, extended family members were less inclined to offer the emotional support I so desperately needed, but didn’t know how to ask for.

An agreement to honor individual feelings is pivotal to weathering this difficult time.  Family members cannot judge each other on who seems to be the saddest.  Grief isn’t a contest, the only prize on the other side of the fog is survival, and any “new normal” will never exist if failure to thrive proves who loves the deceased the most.  Offer support to bereaved family members as if they were actually coping far less well than they seem to be, because in private they probably are worse than you can imagine.

For those supporting grieving children, I think that the worst thing a surviving parent can do is invoke the deceased parent’s name to control the child.  “If your mother was alive…” or “Your father would never allow…”  Besides being manipulative, these words alter the relationship of the child with the parent who is gone, and can’t speak for him or herself.

Children are already missing one parent at every moment, if a parent can’t be present for every occasion, joyous and miserable, why only bring the memory into already fretful conversations?  However on the other side of the coin, I’m always appreciative when people bring up my father in a positive way.  At my younger sister’s college graduation I was touched when family members said how proud my dad would have been of her, because it affirms all of the wonderful ways he was a tremendous gift and influence on our lives, rather than solely focusing on his absence.

I’ve often heard that after a huge loss, those grieving should try to not make any big decisions or changes in their lives for at least a year.  This is wonderful advice for adults, to not sell the house or run off to Vegas, but virtually impossible for teens or young adults.  In the year following my father’s death I moved twice, stopped speaking to virtually all of my long-time best friends, and decided to transfer to a college across the country.  While many of these changes were a natural part of becoming an adult, I wish that I had known then how much I was not really myself during that period.

People grieving should be given small business cards to act as an in-person answering machine, reading “I’m sorry, I’m not here right now, please come back in a year and I’ll try to be more pleasant,” more to remind oneself than to make excuses to other people.  As normal as melodrama in relationships is to younger people, it is beyond even the most well-meaning friends’ comprehension the deep, enduring sadness that is grieving.  We all know through receiving insensitive comments from the most mature adults that no one really understands until he or she has experienced a loss, but it would be tremendously helpful for a teacher, coach, or close family friend to explain to friends and classmates of a grieving child what has happened, and what a gift time and patience are.

Most importantly, remind the grieving child to be patient with him or herself, allow time to remember, and time to continue growing following a staggering loss.  “Bereaved” originally meant “to be deprived,” and while we who have experienced a loss will always be deprived of our loved one, eventually the sense of being deprived of oneself will depart if we can first be compassionate with ourselves.

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Let’s All Take Advantage of the Widow! Dealing with Manipulative Family and Friends

Martha from Utah writes:  Your blog comments would have been of immense help the first couple of years after my husband’s death. We had been married for 45 years.  I can relate to all they say.  At this point in my adjustment (not recovery), reading what new widows have to say brings back a lot of the pain.  When it comes down to the nitty gritty, Time is the greatest healer.  It will be 4 years in February.  I have figured out I will either survive or die. 

Do any other widows complain about inheritance issues involving their children or step children?  This was my greatest burden.  Bob left all our money to me.  I had two children by a previous marriage and the two boys by Bob were furious.  After he died, they demanded a huge cut of Bob’s estate.  One even brought me a Power of Attorney form, and raised a ruckus when I wouldn’t sign.  I shook so badly that I couldn’t write-could hardly hold a fork or spoon.   The two kept at me until I thought I had Parkinson’s.  The doctor said it was nerves.  I lived on heavy sedation for almost a year, making only necessary trips to the grocery store and bank, then back to another pill and my recliner.  I don’t know how I managed to get off this hill and back home.  Two friends, one a retried IRS supervisor and the other an attorney, told me the boys would never leave me alone until I gave them each an enormous amount.  To save my sanity, that is what I finally had to do.  I’m glad Bob never knew how greedy his sons were-and are.  I lost 18 months of my life before I was allowed to grieve and recover.

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus, Grief & Loss Companion, responds:  Martha, thanks for sharing your experience.  I’m so sorry for your loss - after 45 years together, you must miss your husband very much.  And how sad that in addition to bearing the grief from losing your Bob, you had to endure the greed and hostility of the sons. 

I’m continually amazed at how often this scenario occurs - in different variations, but always with a common theme of hard-hearted family members or friends who want to exploit your vulnerability, at a time when you’re already feeling shattered and abandoned.  Sometimes these actions create chasms that can never be bridged. 

And it’s not just friends and family members.  Some businesses are low enough to track obituaries and actually target widows and widowers with a wide range of investment schemes, shady purchases, and “deals of a lifetime.”  One of my friends said that shortly after her husband died, a delivery person arrived with a beautiful upholetered chair from a local furniture store, and presented her with the COD invoice, saying her husband had ordered it for her before his death, and wanted it to be delivered as a comfort to her when he was gone.  She was stunned, but knowing how thoughtful her husband had been, wrote a check to pay for the chair and delivery fee.  She later learned in the local paper that this same company was being investigated by the DA’s fraud unit for perpetrating this same stunt on hundreds of unsuspecting widows and widowers. 

What I’ve learned:  Perhaps because they know that some widows and widowers will receive a big lump-sum insurance payout, or just because predators can sense when someone is vulnerable and likely to make a wrong decision, we who are bereaved do in fact need to be aware and cautious whenever anyone, whether friend, family, or stranger, tries to part us from our resources.  And I’m not implying that all of these are fraudulent schemes, nor that our family and friends don’t have the best of intentions for us.  It’s just that losing a spouse makes us uncommonly vulnerable, and hence, we’re wise to be extra cautious.  As mentioned in an earlier blog, I found that some advice from our funeral director has been indispensable.  He said, “It is not a bad thing to walk slowly at this time,” and I frequently remind myself of this counsel when others make demands or strongly suggest I take a course of action that might be risky.  It never hurts to delay a decision until I’ve had time to carefully anaylyze it, and perhaps even get outside perspective from experts.

When I take time to think about the emotions and feelings that the greedy attempts at manipulation bring up, the primary feeling I have is anger.  The last thing we need when our hearts are broken is for others - particularly those who we think we should be able to trust - transform from “loving relative” into “attack mode” and come after us or our resources.  As Martha experienced, sometimes the price for freedom from their snares is simply to pay them off and then realize that they are not the people we assumed they are… giving us yet another thing to grieve.  I hope that Martha can now focus on her feelings and do her grief work unencumbered by the reprehensible behavior of Bob’s sons. 

 

Have you experienced greedy or manipulative others who’ve tried to take advantage of you?  What feelings did this experience bring up in you?  How has it affected your grieving?  I’d love to hear how you’ve handled this sticky but unfortunately not-uncommon scenario. 

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

 

© 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus