Through the Eyes of a Sibling - Surviving the Passing of a Loved One
Meru Jacoby

Elodie Jacoby and her brother Meru

At the age of five I lost my place as an older sister and became an only child. The event of my brother's passing fragmented my nuclear family of four into two unequal units. Yet, even though Meru’s death altered the course of my life forever, I would hesitate to say it was all for the worse. In retrospect I recognise that his 8-month hiatus in our lives was able to provide me with an emotional insight into humanity that some people can live a whole lifetime without grasping. Because of Meru I choose not to ponder the uncertainty of death as I accept that it is indeed a natural process that is not to be feared.

While the events were nevertheless traumatic I recognise that I did not deal with the same emotional ‘what ifs’ that the adults around me experienced. The relationship between a parent and a child is inherently different than that between two siblings. Children are remarkably resilient and Meru’s passing became a fact of my life that I was willing to accept.

Throughout the grieving process I was made to feel loved and valued. My family were always open about the events with me and they reassured me that my brother had taken up a place watching over me. In my situation emotional openness was important in de-stigmatising the events. It is a mistake to believe that children cope better when presented with a façade of parental strength; true parental strength shines through establishing a transparent emotional connection between parent, child and the deceased.

While we chose not to have visual reminders of my brother within our living spaces I was always reassured that our home was a place where we could share memories. My parent’s ability to share some of their emotions with me added a valuable dimension to our family dynamic as I came to understand that adults suffer from their own vulnerabilities.  Ultimately these early glimpses into their inner feelings taught me about the value of empathy, love and support.

Sixteen years have passed since Meru’s death. While it is an experience that has shaped me, it is not an experience that defines me. I fully accept his passing; in time I have come to realise that while his physical manifestation is no longer here it does not insinuate that he is absent from my life.  I feel comfort in knowing that his presence coexists with my own presence.
-Elodie Jacoby

Editor's Note:  Elodie is currently earning a Masters in International Migration and Public Policy at the London School of Economics.  She is a close friend of my daughter, Alix.  

Stories of Validation -

Tracy Venters and her Daughter Jessica

Tracy and Jessica in San Fransisco

My Connection with Jessica
 
On May 5, 2014, my extremely beautiful, academically gifted and talented daughter took her own life. She was 25. She had a two year old daughter, devoted husband, and family who cherished her dearly. She had been through some traumatic circumstances over the previous year and was suffering from depression.  She was my only daughter, one of two children, and my best friend. Needless to say I was devastated. However, I know this is not the end for the two of us; rather it is a change in the way we now relate.

I have so many signs from Jessica every day. She sends me songs, pictures of herself in the most unique ways, she physically rotated a statue of an angel with bluebirds that represents her many times (she comes to me as a bluebird all the time); in fact we played a game with it to see if she could get it rotated a full 360 degrees in a week’s time before our cleaning person would come on Friday and position it back the “right” way. Eventually she did and after that I moved the statue to another location and we quit “playing”. I could go on and on, however one of the most wondrous messages from her is one she tried to give me a year ago, however I only just now got (duh!) after humbly deciding to start an affiliate group for Helping Parents Heal in the Dallas area.

As part of the process, Elizabeth asked me to sign some paperwork, as well as supply a picture and bio. I really agonized about the bio. I have many versions of bios for my professional life, yet none seemed relevant for this journey. I thought about it late into the night one night. Then, early the next morning I was awakened by a song in my soul:  “You're not alone, I'm with you, I’m lonely too...open up this is a raid, I wanna get it through to you, you’re not alone.” This became part of my bio. Via email, Elizabeth asked me about some words in the song, and only after I reflected on the first time this song had awakened me in this way  did I really understand that I had missed a very obvious and important message from Jessica nearly a year earlier.

Last July, just a few months after Jess transitioned, I got a call my from the wife of an old friend to notify me he had passed away. Pat was a former employee of mine, and over the ensuing years we kept in touch, usually having lunch a couple times a year. When she called me, Pat’s wife also asked me to give the eulogy at his service. I was honored, but also a bit surprised because I mainly knew him through our professional relationship, we didn’t really socialize. However, she said he looked up to me and had wanted me to do this (his death, after a long battle with cancer, was not unexpected).

The memorial service was not until a week or so later. During that time, I really agonized about writing the eulogy. What to say? Was I really the right person given I felt like I was mainly his old boss? And I was going through such tremendous grief of my own, and totally overwhelmed at work, etc. One night I was up until the wee hours, yet again, barely able to get off the floor under the weight of everything I was going through. I finally crawled into bed. Then at 5am I was suddenly awakened with a song by Mavis Staples literally boring through me: “You're not alone, I'm with you, I’m lonely too...open up this is a raid, I wanna get it through to you, you’re not alone.”  Instantly, I knew it was Jessica.

I got right up and wrote an amazing tribute to Pat. The words just poured from pen to paper. After I delivered the eulogy at his service, so many people came up to me and told me how moving it was…perhaps the most touching was his mother who hugged me and thanked and said she will never forget “those beautiful things you said about my son”.
Here’s the thing: it was Jessica writing those words and in them she had her own messages for me. My eulogy said: “ Pat fought long and hard to be here for his family and to pursue life. His Spirit was willing but in the end the disease claimed his body.” What Jessica wanted me to know was that she too fought long and hard to be here however in the end the depression she had battled so long claimed her body.

My eulogy for Pat recounted funny stories, memories of a business trip we took together to Rome and the numerous new business ideas he shared with me, so therefore I ended with this: “So what can we take away from this celebration of Pat's life? What can we make of having known him in life and at his death? I would say this: Pursue your interests whatever they may be... climbing a certain mountain or climbing the 551 steps to the top of the Dome at the Vatican, taking up a new hobby, or opening up a food truck business. Don't let the circumstances that make up your life story get in the way or be your excuse...whether circumstances of illness, or inconvenience, or fear. Never stop dreaming up new ideas or learning new songs. In this way, we can honor the life and the memory of Patrick.”

What Jessica had tried to tell me nearly a year ago was that the way that I can honor HER is to never stop living…keep climbing…keep singing new songs. I didn’t really get that the message was meant for me a year ago, so she found a way to bring it back around with the song once again and the bio.

I miss Jessica’s physical presence every single day. I want to hug her, text her, see her face light up when I spoil her at the mall. However that is to be no more. Yet she is here. And she lets me know it every day. “Open up this is a raid! I wanna get it through to you...you’re not alone! I’m gonna get it through to you… you’re not alone!”
 
-Tracy Venters

We are happy to announce that Tracy will starting a new affiliate group for Helping Parents Heal in Dallas, Texas.  Please read more about Tracy in her bio below:
My quest for the true nature of life and Spirit began in my late 20s. Ironically, this journey began after being challenged by my minister on my belief that being a good a Christian was not enough to protect my children from harm any more than those of the most hardened "sinner". Eventually I came to learn that life as we know it is just a blink of the eye, our souls live forever. Then the unthinkable happened - I lost my beautiful daughter Jessica, my best friend. I spent weeks barely existing, wishing I could be with her. Early one morning, after a particularly bad night, I was jarred awake by a song pounding into my soul: “You're not alone, I'm with you, I'm going to get through...open up this is a raid, I'm going to get it through to you, you’re not alone.” This was the first of many signs from Jessica, the renewal of our relationship and beginning of my healing. It is my fervent desire to help other parents heal through connecting with their own children who now soar on the Other Side.

Mission statement of Helping Parents Heal:

Our mission is to help parents who have lost children, giving them support and resources to aid in the healing process. We will go a step beyond other groups by allowing the open discussion of spiritual experiences and evidence for the Afterlife in a non-dogmatic way. In other words, we will welcome everyone regardless of their religious (or non-religious) background and allow for a very open type of dialog. We receive all and do not judge people or their children on the basis of life choices. 
 
-Mark Ireland, Co-Founder, Helping Parents Heal