Tag Archives: Ask Mary Mac

Death of a Parent

Paris Jackson…What Grief Looks Like

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Regardless of whether you enjoyed Michael Jackson’s music, admired his career and his life, or not, he must be given credit for raising such wonderful children.

On Thursday, at his memorial service, the world saw very clearly what a grieving child looks like. Paris Jackson, in all her pain, mustered the courage to speak for herself and her brothers about their Dad and the man he was to her and them.

For a young child to decide it was so important to let the world know what her father meant to her, speaks volumes of the way she was raised and the love she felt for her Dad.

I was amazed at the continued reactions by the media covering the event. I guess for me, who has seen the enormous effect the death of a loved one can have on a child, it seemed slightly insincere. Inside I was thinking, “have they not ever witnessed someone in deep pain before? Had they never, in all their years of reporting, not seen real, raw emotions when a person knows this particular day will change their life forever? Had they never know the death of someone close to them in their life yet?”

Grieving children are everywhere. Sometimes we get to see it up close and Paris gave the world a very clear picture of what that level of pain is like. For a short, very personal, moment, she allowed the world to see just what the loss of a father can do.

While she may not know it, her courage and her comments have helped millions better understand the devastating emotions that will undoubtedly continue to rise up for her and her family in the weeks, months and even years to come.

Grief is never easy…it is not pretty…at times it’s even messy, because all of us grieve differently and at different times. And the unnerving thing about it is that until we’re in the thick of it ourselves we rarely will know how and when we will react to it.

So I applaud Paris Jackson’s courage. For with her very brief comments she helped the world better understand that a child’s grief is real and difficult and yet, when expressed, can have a powerful impact on others.

Military

Can’t We Bury Our Heroes in Peace?

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When I first heard the story of protestors disrupting the funeral services of our military men and women I thought it was a mistake. Then I found out it was true.

It seems that radical groups are picketing with signs at the burials of our heroes who have served our nation and died to keep us free. Don’t they understand that it was they who died specifically to give us this amazing gift to actually have the right to speak out. But please folks…

When a family is at the most vulnerable time in their lives…when they have lost someone who meant the world to them, their parent, sibling, child, the last thing they need is a group of ignorant folks intruding on their pain.

What angers me so is that there seems to be a line that keeps getting crossed which raises the stupidity bar higher and higher. Not to mention the disrespectful bar.

If my grandmother was alive, she’d say “Now how were these people raised?” and I would agree with her. Having the audacity to think that your political views are more important than respecting the privacy of a family who is burying their loved one is completely beyond me.

I don’t care what you stand for, whether you try to declare it’s your free speech rights, there is absolutely no reason a person with any conscience would additionally and intentionally cause more grief than was necessary for any family who had lost a loved one.

I grew up learning the Golden Rule…do unto others as you would like them to do unto you. It seems to me if all of us would abide by that lesson, we might just pass along some kindness to our fellow human being. And with all the additional stress that our declining economy and the world has stirred up, it seems we would all welcome a bit more kindness into our lives.

Terrorism

Neda – The Angelic Face of Desired Freedom

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How can anyone not be moved by the struggle for freedom that is happening now in Iran. So many young people yearning to have their country break free from the oppression that has taken over their lives for decades now by radical clerics and men striving for ultimate power over all Iranian citizens.

When a religious leader declares himself ‘the supreme leader’ that says something. When a military is raised against its own people, that says more.

I’m sure on that fateful day, Neda and her friends never expected that she would be killed nor become the symbol of potential freedom for an entire nation. I’m sure her family never expected that she wouldn’t be coming home that evening to love and embrace them. I’m sure all who loved her, along with the rest of the world, would never have expected she would become the angelic face of desired freedom for a people who have longed for it.

I have dear friends who are Persian. They still have family back in Iran and they tell me stories about how women were doctors and lawyers and after the revolution in 1979 they were no longer allowed to practice their skills. Can you possibly imagine going to four years of medical school, three years of law school, work in your profession and then one day the government and religious leaders decree you are no longer able to participate in society on a professional level? Would a man stand for that? Unlikely. But that is the type of oppression that they brave people have lived under for all these years.

I remember when Iran was taken over by these radicals. I had just finished college. It took us 444 days to have our prisoners released from their hands and it came on the heels of the inauguration of President Reagan. It started on November 4, 1979 and ended on January 20, 1981. At his inaugural luncheon he announced how the prisoners had left Iranian airspace on their way to a military base in Germany. It was a very happy day in our country that our fellow citizens were no longer in their hands.

But what about all the people in Iran who live under this regime each day. I can’t imagine what that might feel like in our country. So much of our lives here in the USA are slowly being taken away from us and our countrymen are starting to raise their hands in protest. It’s a good thing to not allow a few to kill the spirit and determination of many. But that’s another’s day’s blog.

I honor the family of this young girl who, unknowingly, gave her life for a cause greater than herself. And while her family cannot even give her a proper burial, I, and many other Americans and citizens of other countries around the world, do send out our condolences to them and hope they know she is now with her loving God.

Military

Memorial Day 2009

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I had the pleasure of reconnecting with a very dear friend of mine recently in anticipation of our undergraduate college reunion in just a few weeks. (Simply can’t tell you which one…just too shocking even for me to acknowledge!!)

Anyway, my friend Tom and I both grew up on Long Island and, since at that time their weren’t too many folks going to our college from that far away, we became great friends who ultimately would travel home together for weekends.

Tom owned a great little Fiat…you know the kind that made you feel every bump in the road and felt like you were driving inches from the ground…which, of course, you were! So every so many weeks, we’d get together and calculate, based upon exams and activities, which weekends would work out well to travel back home together.

Well, my dear friend Tom, was a practical joker and little Miss Gullible would buy into it every time. One weekend as we’re heading home and already on the road, he informs me that he left his wallet at the dorm and since both of us had so little money as college kids, we were in a bad way trying to figure out what to do about the tolls through the Delaware Water Gap in Pennsylvania and the George Washington Bridge to get from New Jersey to New York.

So here we were…no money and, at least for me, a lot of nerves. When we drove through the Delaware Water Gap’s 25 cent toll I thought, “what’s the most they can do to two college kids for 25 cents?”

But when we came close to GWB, Tom tells me to duck down because he decided to run the toll and since I knew there were those gates that came down in front of each car, all I could imagine was all this wood flying everywhere and some massive group of highway patrolmen chasing us across this huge bridge which crosses over the Hudson River. You know, something out of a movie.

So here we go coming close to the bridge and I remember to this day how nervous I was and thinking if I got a black mark like this on my life, I’d never get a job! Crazy kids.

As instructed, I ducked down low in the seat asking along the way how far we were to the bridge. Tom would update me. Finally, as we get closer he tells me he’s going to run through the gate. I’m freaking out, as visions of wood and windshield glass flying everywhere is racing through my mind.

Seconds later I hear a woman toll taker say…”Thank you,” and this ‘ding’ that proclaims the money has been taken, and I realize my dear friend Tom has tricked me again, only this time over the length of a two hour drive. I thought I would die. All he could do was laugh as I screamed at him. I thought I would kill him. And if I recall I did hit him a few times.

So why am I telling you about this funny story…because my friend Tom, I have just learned, is a proud Veteran of the United States Military. While at college, he was a ROTC (Reserve Officers Training Corp)…definition: college students who receive training as military officers for future service in the armed forces.

While a young gal in the sixties (oh, well so much for hiding my age!), I saw my classmates’ older brothers coming home in bodybags from Vietnam. I saw others coming home injured and some had great difficulties coping with life after war. And I was so sensitive to their pain because our country was in such turmoil during that war and I never felt it was right that our citizens punished those who served.

And in my first conversation with Tom in these several decades, I learned he served in Bosnia and Iraq. And I will have the privilege of driving up to our college reunion with him soon to catch up and hopefully he will share much about his life that I have lost out on.

Today in the USA it’s Memorial Day, when we honor and remember those who lost their lives in service to our country and gave the ultimate sacrifice. Let us remember them and their families who miss them.

Let us also salute all the men and woman who now protect and defend us because we can’t, and to their families who have sacrificed much while they are serving and when they come home. I, for one, am an American who is eternally grateful.

These are strong, brave and talented men and woman who put themselves in harms’ way so we might live in this country and enjoy all the liberties we have. The liberty to create businesses as we will, the liberty to speak out against our politicians as we will, the liberty to live where we wish, the liberty to spend our money as we wish, the liberty to vote for those we believe it without having the barrel of a gun pointed at us.

All these very special people give us these liberties that other men from other lands have died to partake in. Let us acknowledge their sacrifice and emotional and physical pain. Let us address all their needs when they arrive back home. Let us honor them today and always, as I do, by walking up to them at the airports and elsewhere and simply saying “Thank you for serving for me.”

Yes, it’s been a long while since September 11th, 2001, but we all know how life changed from that point on. And while we have been blessed not to have experienced another major event on our own soil, our military has kept that at bay.

So I am looking forward to hearing all of Tom’s stories when I see him in a few weeks. And I bless him and the members of all our military branches for their devotion to our country, the United States of America, and its fine people.

Death of a Child

Death of a Child…Age is Unimportant

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Greetings!

As I read some of the recent posts to the Grieving Hearts group, it will always be true that no matter when a family loses a child they feel deep sadness for the inability to have seen that child grow beyond the years of their death.

It doesn’t matter whether they were an infant, a teenager, or a 42 year old. It only matters that for their family they won’t have the joy of seeing what they would have done with their life, all the experiences they would have had from that point on and the person they would have become later in life.

When an infant dies the entire cycle of life is considered. All the pleasure of raising that child, watching them grow into a fine young man or woman. Seeing them graduate high school and college. Perhaps seeing them marry and birth children of their own.

Yet when it’s a 42 or even 52 year old child to an older parent, that parent deals with all the additional years they would have had with their child. They also think of how they counted on their child to take care of them in the latter stages of their life.

Regardless of the number of missing years that a parent no longer has the privilege of experiencing, the pain is still great and the hole in the heart still remains. But over time, as grieving and anquish subside, there is a place where it turns to celebration and gratitude for one’s life, however long they happen to be with us.