The Grief and Loss Class
It’s a yearly class on grief and loss for counseling students, taught by Radford University Professor Alan Forrest. The curriculum includes reading Tuesdays with Morrie and The Jim and Dan Stories, the book I wrote about losing my two brothers a month apart in 2001. The students, usually about twenty or so, watch a video of Morrie being interviewed by Ted Koppel, and also get to meet me in person for one of their classes.
It begins with all eyes on me, which after being a guest four times in the last four years I’m starting to get used to. I broke the ice this time by reading my writer’s blog bio – Whenever I don’t know exactly what it is I’m doing and it borders on wasting my time, I call it research. ‘Dear Abby, How can I get rid of freckles?’ was my first published piece at the age of eleven. The bio caused the group to erupt into laughter, which is always a good thing, especially considering our primary subject matter was death.
I generally spend anywhere from a half hour to an hour talking about how the book came about, what it was like to write it, and what has happened since. My husband, Joe, who took Alan’s class when he was a counseling student, has accompanied me to each class, giving support and adding comments that help me stay on track. He pulls up my webpage and blog on the classroom screen. I pass out photos, tell stories, and usually read one of my essays on death and a poem or two.
My favorite part of the class is when it’s opened up for discussion. I’m always surprised by how thoughtful the student’s questions and comments are, and I find myself thinking about them for days after the class is over.
The only male, besides Alan and Joe, and one of the few older students posed the first question. It was a variation of one I had heard before:
“I almost felt like I was violating your privacy when reading the book. How were you able to share such a personal story?” he asked.
I explained that it is an intimate story about a family’s loss, told from one family member’s perspective. But it was also a universal story.
“Death is real and one of the most important subjects there is, but one that hardly anyone talks about,” I said. I also explained that I was shy at first about sharing my story, but the book unfolded in steps that I and other family members were comfortable with.
Someone usually wants to know how my process sorting out my beliefs about an afterlife is going. Discussions about family dynamics are always explored, because ultimately the book is a story about family and love.
This most recent class had a very special feature. My friend Mara and her ten year old daughter Kyla attended. Mara and I are both poets and Scrabble enthusiasts who also share a grief bond. Not only is she a reoccurring character on my blog, but she appears in my book on more than one occasion. She lost her husband, Cory, two weeks before my first brother died, and we supported each other from a place of knowing acute grief in the aftermath of the deaths.
After the class break Mara and Kyla read from the booklet they co-wrote five years ago. When Mara discovered there were no books available geared for young children that would explain death in a realistic way, she helped Kayla tell the story in her own words, using photos to illustrate them. Kyla may have gotten even more questions than I did. My favorite was when a woman asked what she told her friends about her dad. Kayla answered that she had to get to know them and trust them before she could tell them that her dad was dead. Mara, who has a grief counseling relationship with Alan, read some of her poems about death. Some comic relief by way of poetry was also offered.
A bond is created by sharing a sensitive and emotionally charged subject so openly. After the class people hug, share more of their own stories, and ask me to sign books. Even the ones who were utterly quiet during the three hour class come up to me to thank me for sharing.
Post Notes: You can read an excerpt of Alan’s review of my book HERE, excerpts from The Jim and Dan Stories in which Mara is mentioned are HERE, and a post about last year’s class HERE. That’s me, Mara, and Kyla (standing) in the photo taken at the class break. For all my posts on grief and loss go HERE and scroll down.
November 9th, 2007 11:05 am
Did my mother ever leave you a note telling you she had read your book? I know she had said she wanted to.
I had no idea about Mara, I missed that somehow.
November 9th, 2007 11:53 am
What a wonderful thing to do, Colleen…I’d love to know the age range of the students who take this class or were in it this time…This has to be such a rewarding experience, in every way and deeply moving as well as gratifying….That is a class I would love to be a fly-on-the-wall for….
November 9th, 2007 12:18 pm
The oldest was probably in their 50’s. The majority in this class were in their 20’s. But I have done classes where the mature students outnumbered the average collage aged student or at least were even with it. They are all studying to become counselors. It is a very rewarding class, especially now that I am enjoying it more and not as nervous as when I first started doing it.
Haven’t heard from your mom, Deana, but I’m glad she read the book.
November 9th, 2007 1:22 pm
This still gets to me. I am sad today!!!
I miss everyone who has passed and things just haven’t been the same. xo
November 9th, 2007 1:26 pm
It must be satisfying, in a deep, soulful way, to know your experience can help someone else move through loss. You are doing good work with this class.
A piece I wrote about my sister has been used in a doctors group about death and dying and might be used at a med school as well. There is no way I could stand before a group and speak about what happened.
November 9th, 2007 2:08 pm
Deidre,
Your loss is still so new. But then again, you may never be able to speak before a group about it. Mara and Kyla told the story to the class about how Corey died and I think it was cathartic for everyone there. I don’t speak in such detail about seeing Dan die, which was both a gift and a deep trauma, but the book does that for me. Do you have a link on you blog to the piece being used by the doctor’s group?
She, I know. Between the class, which happened a week or two ago, and writing about dad’s hospital experience recently, this stuff has been on my mind a lot lately. It just doesn’t feel real. I just can’t fully believe it, even now.
November 9th, 2007 2:31 pm
This is such a moving blog, Colleen. I’m here to pass The Roaring Lion award on to you. See my blog.
hugs
Pris
November 9th, 2007 8:19 pm
What a wonderful thing to do. Alan is a great guy.
I am glad it well for you.
November 9th, 2007 10:12 pm
It’s good what your doing there in that class… I recently had an article published that dealt with a friend’s suicide–sharing I think helps. Here from Michele’s tonight.
November 9th, 2007 11:58 pm
What a perfect way to introduce students to the topics of grief and loss. I am glad you were there personally.
November 10th, 2007 6:54 am
I lost my younger sister a number of years ago, as you may know, but writing about this would be like trying to climb a high slippery marble faced wall. Cold and impossible and even dangerous if I fall. I am proud of you for being able to do that. Maybe some day I will attempt the challenge.
November 10th, 2007 10:15 am
Writing is the way I synthesize what I’m learning. Writing the book was a form of active grieving and how I controlled the grief, by bringing it up at each day’s writing session. I wasn’t happy till I hit a nerve.
Losing my brothers changed my whole identity. Seeing Dan bravely face his death set a fire beneath me that led me to do things I didn’t think I could do.
On the other hand, I have not really processed my dad’s death. I have protected myself from that and don’t have the heart to go there.
Every person and every grief is so different.
Wishing you peace, Tabor.
November 10th, 2007 10:23 am
sounds like theraphy for everyone
November 10th, 2007 1:56 pm
Excellent! A great way to share and expose students to something that greatly needs discussion. And you are very brave to stand up before a group like that. Public speaking is no picnic.
November 10th, 2007 8:59 pm
Yes, it’s funny. Anger can be shared openly, callouses, fears even, but real experience, raw tenderness and survival cherishing is often considered more personal. What if that ratio of norms were all flipped?
November 15th, 2007 3:39 pm
Colleen, this speaks to me so much. I lost my dear grandmother, the single greatest love of my life to that point, at sixteen and my Mom, my Mom died when I was twenty-two.
Combine all that with the loss of our first child, a stillbirth, and I feel like I live with a certain familiarity with death and have done a siginificant amount of grief work.
I have come to a certain peace and willing expectation about my own death, and it comes up in casual conversation with my family quite frequently.
I hope my openness will help them if I go sooner, rather than later, and if I go before them…which I better!! 🙂
And I hope it will help me, if and when I lose one of them before I go. Living with love and attachment is bittersweet.
I appreciate your writing about it.