Broken Seashells - Broken Hearts

Recently while on a trip visiting my sister in Oregon I came across a lovely and heartfelt book entitled My Beautiful Broken Shell written by Carol Hamblet Adams and illustrated by one of my favorite seascape artists, D. Morgan. The words of the tender reflections in this book resonated with my heart as I walked along the sandy shores of the Oregon coast collecting seashells. Adams shares the brokenness of her heart and spirit as she struggled through a difficult time. In her book, she describes her experience walking along the sandy seashore searching for perfect seashells to add to her collection. As she gazes at the sea of broken shells, she comes to realize that the broken ones reflect her own broken heart. In each shell, Adams sees those who are hurting and who have lost loved ones; those who are frightened or alone; and those who are living with unfulfilled dreams. Like all of us, each shell in the vast sea is tremendously resilient after fighting so hard to keep from being totally crushed by the pounding surf. We, too, come to realize that it takes courage to remain on the shore after being “tossed by the storms of life and worn down by the sands of time” despite the unrelenting pain from the loss of our precious child. The turbulent crashing waves of the sea followed by the calm waves teaches us about the true meaning of strength, courage and faith. The brokenness of each shell comes to remind us that when our hearts are shattered beyond belief, we can survive even the most horrific storm in our own lives. As each beautiful broken shell doesn’t pretend to be perfect or whole, it allows for its brokenness to be seen, knowing that within the center of the shell lays immense beauty. Broken seashells don’t exist alone but are surrounded by a vast number of seashells, each broken in their own unique way. Like all of humanity, when you truly look around, you see that we are all wounded in one way or another. As rare as it is to find a perfect shell in the midst of hundreds of shells lying on the beach, it’s equally rare to find any one of us who has not experienced deep pain and sorrow. As the broken shells lie close to one another, we are reminded that we, too, live in community with each other and when we draw upon the strength and courage of others it helps us through the most difficult times. After reading this tender and heartfelt book, I walked the sandy Oregon shore, no longer in search for the perfect seashell for my collection but rather recognizing the strength, courage and beauty of all the broken shells that lay scattered along the shore. With each broken seashell I

picked up and placed in my hand, I admired its own uniqueness and strength. It was through gazing at them, I was reminded of my own brokenness and the tremendous courage it has taken me to survive the most turbulent storm in my life. Through my brokenness I have emerged stronger, more compassionate and loving and able to recognize and embrace my own internal beauty from that struggle. Like many others, I find my deepest peace and serenity by the seashore, mesmerized by the crashing waves followed by the slow, gentle retreat of the water back into the sea. As one of my favorite quotes so profoundly states, “nowhere on earth are heartaches better tendered,” I feel the sadness in my heart soothed and my soul restored and nourished as I experience all the beauty that the sea offers. As I prepare to leave next week for another retreat to the sea, I will notice and cherish each broken shell knowing the strength and courage it took for each of them to survive the turbulent storms of the sea and be reminded of my own healing journey. Next time you find yourself walking along the shore’s edge, pick up a broken seashell that speaks to you and see yourself reflected in the broken edges. Recognize the strength of the shell to survive being tossed through the crashing waves just as your heart has survived and grown stronger after the most horrific and tumultuous storm.

©2005, Pamela Leonhardt,PsyD. ~reprinted from Denver Metro Compassionate Friends

Newsletter, July 2005

Pamela is a Licensed Psychologist in private practice in Boulder and bereaved mother to Angel Child,

Michael (12/2 - 7/14/)

My Beautiful Broken Shell(1998)Carol Hamblet Adams, Harvest House Publishers, Eugene, OR.

Memories

Within each tear that falls Is a mirror … That reflects a special moment In our lives. They trickle warmly down And land in a puddle In my heart.

Tammy Tobac, Sibling TCF Pittsburg, Pa

Thank you so very much for your

generous donations

They are greatly appreciated!

Newsletter Renewal Donations:Newsletter Renewal Donations:Newsletter Renewal Donations:Newsletter Renewal Donations: Shelly Carter in memory of her daughter Sarah Mona Gonzalez in memory of her daughter Cyrena Barbara Evans in memory of her son Edward Patricia Patton, Ph.D., in memory of all children Marilyn Lemke, in memory of her son William Lemke Jr.

Meeting Topics & Info

August 4 - “The Stages of Grief”

September 1 - “Helping Hands”

Newsletter Renewal Deadline August 31st!!

Deadline for Newsletter

Renewal - August 31st! Please make sure to return your renewal letter to stay on our mailing list and continue receiving our monthly newsletter. If we don’t receive it by this date, the Oct. issue will be your last. If you have misplaced your letter, you can email us at TCF.SCV@gmail.com or give Alice a call at 661-252-4374 and let us know you want stay on the list. To the sizeable amount of you who have already turned them in, we appreciate it!

Those Who Know

The circle forms as each walks in. Our monthly meeting gathers again. Sorry for the reason we all are here. And grateful for an understanding ear. We say our name and that of our child. Share circumstances beyond our control. At first-so hard to think and then talk. Don’t want to be here. Turn back the clock. Deep grief, raw pain, all come seeking why? Many ask why their child had to die? The answer, we learn, is not to be found. A simple question, and yet so profound. Inconceivable loss. Why did we not know our child could die before we would go? Sitting together, we are Those Who Know. Understanding your cry - “How can it be so?” Here you’ll find others among Those Who Know. Navigating life broken - no longer whole. As the amputee learns to move without limb, We will help you to start living again. As years go by, meetings come and go. From our loss of one many more we now know. Zach, Jessie, Sean, Kyle, Kevin and Ron Different ages and causes, but all now gone. Lee, Steve, Sandy, Chase, McCaleb, and Jeff, You guide us in helping those new to this test. In remembering you we give what we can, Believing that, someday, we’ll hold you again. The meetings helped us and we’re here again, As new bereaved parents in a fog, walk in. We are living proof that you will survive. We are Those Who Know - our children have died.

~Georgia Cockerham

Zach Ward’s Mom, TCF Northwest Coast Chapter Leader & Oregon Regional Coordinator

“We Need Not Walk Alone”, Autumn/Winter 2015

We can’t compare our grief process. It is our own personal journey

to embrace. It’s yours to travel, and no one can travel it more gracefully than you.

~Lindsey Henke

Riding The Waves I feel as if I have been body surfing in the ocean, cruising at the top of the wave, enjoying the ride- then suddenly, being body-slammed into the sand. Unable to move, the waves rush over me, pounding and crashing onto me. Occasionally the tide recedes, and I lay breathless on the wet, sandy shore. I cannot move. I wiggle my toes, squint, open my eyes, and see the rest of the shoreline. While my view is obscured by my tears, the salty sea, my straggly hair, and my prone position, there is some daylight. Just as I prepare to roll over, and maybe get to my knees, the waves of grief lap at my toes and suddenly crash upon me once more. Unable to withstand the power of the waves, I fall to the beach once again. Finally, the tide recedes again, but I still cannot move. I am bone tired from past efforts I am aware of noise around me I can hear the chirping birds, and feel the warm sun. The laughter of children beckons me to once again open my eyes. Helping hands are touching me, encouraging me to rise up. Gently hands soothe me with their light touch. Warm hugs embrace me. It feels good, for awhile, until the voices drift on down shore, leaving me alone with the setting sun. I marvel at the beauty and thank God for His presence. It becomes dark again. The wind blows in, bringing dark clouds and a chill to the air. I shiver, and the sense of calm and peace is not so reassuring. The tide is at my ankles, and my toes sink into the sand. I can do this. I can stand up against this set of waves...maybe. Or, maybe it’s easier to lie down and let them roll over me. Better yet, I wade out further, a little deeper, challenging the waves of grief. And then - surprised I lie down and float. The waves roll under me, crashing harmlessly on the shore. As I float, I look up at the rising moon. The waves lull me to sleep in the moonlight. Maybe, just maybe, I will rest well. Maybe, I can ride these waves. Maybe a new, sunny day is coming.

~Ramona Lyddon Chester, CA

My Perennial Love

Every summer my son gives me flowers. He planted them 17 years ago … the summer before he died. I remember the day he planted them. Not the exact date, but standing there talking to him as he poked holes in the ground and carefully placed each one. I remember thanking him and thinking how very sweet of him to do that for me. Terry died the following February. After months of crying and grieving, summer came and with it his flowers bloomed! Of course it made me miss him even more, but how I loved seeing them and knowing that he had put them there the year before. I know nothing about flowers so I was astounded when my mother told me that what he had planted was an annual and not a perennial and that they should not have come back. A few weeks ago, our neighbor who moved in last summer, commented on my impatiens. She said she was surprised to see them come back from last year. I told her that they have been coming back every year now for 16 years. Just saying it aloud made me realize how extraordinary that really is! There is something else I have come to realize. My love for my son did not end when he died. My love for him is indefinite; it is enduring. It is perennial.

Maureen Harman

TCF Tidewater Chapter, VA In Memory of my son Terry

Islands Look for the small, quiet islands of peace That arise unexpectedly from out of the great sea of your sorrow.

~Sascha Wagner

Prescription for Healing: Share a memory with an understanding friend.

~Sascha Wagner

Were Received From:

John & Rumi Callin

In Loving Memory their son: Thomas Callin

Thomas Callin

8/7 - 9/6

Elaine Bottoms

Daniel McAlpine

In Loving Memory of son: 6/27 - 8/29

Tommy, Every day, every hour, every minute, & every second that passes are thoughts of you! You’re always in our hearts!!

Love you so much, Mom & Dad

Donna Frayer

Michael Haywood

In Loving Memory of son: 1/29 - 8/07

Carlos & Ana Rodriguez

In Loving Memory of their son:

Eric Rodriguez

8/11 - 1/20