Stories

Olivia was just six when her house caught on fire causing the deaths of her two younger sisters.  She was the big sister to Lauren and Rachel.  She wondered, am I still a big sister?  Who will wear my hand-me-downs?  And, is it okay to laugh?

Joy was just seven when her mommy died of cancer.  She wondered, should I be a big girl and help daddy?  Who will help me choose my clothes for school?  Who will show me how to put lipstick on for the first time?  And, is it okay to laugh?

At family support groups, Tyler used clay to create an image of what his grief looked like.  He described the top face as sad, how he often feels since the death of his grandma.  The bottom face he described as happy, how he used to feel before her death.  There is a layer separating these emotions that needed to be pretty thick.  This, he said, is what he needs to go through-the grief process-in order to feel the happiness again.

Allison was a happy kid.  Everything in her world was in order.  Then, her grandpa, her best buddy, died.  He wasn't there to call her everynight to see how her day had gone.  Five months later, Allison's dad died.  She lost the hope that she would ever grow close to him.  Four months later, Allison's cousin died.  "It felt like everyone in my family was disappearing, and soon it was only going to be me."  Allison attended a support group at her school with her school counselor and a facilitator from Annie's Hope.  She had a chance to talk about what she'd been through with schoolmates.  They could laugh, cry or just talk, and nobody would judge them.  Even at home, sharing the painful parts of grief with her mom became easier.  She didn't feel so "different" anymore.

On any given day, Daddy was always there to give us piggyback rides, make us giggle at his funny jokes or swordfight with us.  At bedtime, he always read us a book, always knelt at our bed to say prayers, always said "I love you" and asked "Where is daddy keeping you?"  Altogether, with our hands to our hearts, we said "in my heart."  Then one day wasn't any given day.  Our daddy got sick.  Very, very sick.  His doctor told our mommy and him that he had cancer.  A very, very rare cancer that the doctor couldn't cure.  Daddy didn't go to work anymore.  He got very skinny.  Daddy couldn't give us rides anymore.  He slept a lot.  Daddy still loved us, but couldn't show us like before.  Our days of feeling happy, safe and okay became days of feeling sad, scared and confused.  Then Pam came to our house.  She brought the Horizons program from a place called Annie's Hope.  She helped us to understand that Daddy still loved us even if he didn't look like himself, act like himself, or play like himself.  She helped us to believe that Daddy was right - we would always carry him in our hearts.   At Annie's Hope, Ethan found out that he isn't the only kid who has had someone special die.  He also learned that it's okay to feel sad, mad, scared, and even to cry, and no one will make fun of him.  Jared made a feelings pillow and popped bubbles with his angry energy.  He says, "Annie's Hope helped heal my heart."  Terrie now realizes that she doesn't have to be strong all of the time.  She feels comfortable with taking off her mask and showing how much she hurts inside.

Tori has a wound.  The wound is deep and poisonous, hard to heal.  Tori tries to hide the wound from family and friends, but the wound never lets her rest.  It goes with her to school while she tries to learn, to bed while she wants to sleep, and to the playground where she hopes to laugh.  This wound isn't physical.  It is of her heart, mind and soul.  It was created the night her 14 year old brother, Jeff, ended his life.  Tori wanted to wake him up to get ready for school.  Instead of finding the brother she loved sleeping in late, she found him hanging over his bed.  Every day she sees his face, flashing back to the moment her life changed forever.  Tori and her family came to support groups.  In week five, and over six months after Jeff's death, for the first time ever, Tori was able to softly share with her fellow group members, "My brother Jeff died because he did something to himself".  It's not the full story; but, for Tori, it is a huge move forward on a slow and difficult journey.  The process of healing a wound has begun.