About Rebecca Carney - One Woman's Perspective

My name is Becky Carney. My husband, Joe, and I have been married for 40 years. We have two living children, Eric (37) and Jenna (32). We lost a baby in utero at 19 weeks in 1987. In 2002, our middle son, Jason (19), and his best friend, Alina (20), were broadsided by a drunk driver who was going at least twice the speed limit. They both died instantly. This blog is written from my perspective as a bereaved parent. I don't claim to know what it's like to walk in anyone else's shoes. Each situation is different; each person is different. Everyone handles grief differently. But if I can create any degree of understanding of what it's like to be a parent who has lost a child, then I have succeeded in my reason for writing this blog.

Question about Non-Profits for Helping Bereaved Parents

I have had a project in my mind for a long time – a non-profit for helping and supporting bereaved parents. I don’t want to duplicate what others have done, but I have wanted to do something to help. Whatever I do, I want it to be entirely relevant and workable.

What I have in mind is something that’s very ambitious – or at least could be in the long run – so I’m not sure if I have the wherewithal to do anything that ambitious, and I don’t think I can do it alone. My heart is telling me that now may be the time. I say that out loud with fear and trepidation, as I haven’t said those words to hardly anyone and I’ve never outlined what I have in mind to anyone.

So, my question is this: Do you know of any non-profit organizations that specifically help and provide resources for bereaved parents? If so, what is their focus, size, any other specifics? Could you please also provide a web link, if one is available? If you have started a non-profit, what has been your process/experience? If you don’t want to put anything public on this site, you can email me at onewomansperspective@hotmail.com.

Thank you.

~Becky

© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney

Jason David Carney – 7/29/82 – 3/3/02

Horrible Week

I’m just going to put this out there. It’s only Wednesday and this has been a horrible week so far. As a matter of fact, the past few weeks have been just awful. Friday is the anniversary of Jason’s death, and that by itself is so much to handle. It hurts so much that Jason is gone. Joe and I still ask each other, “How can he be gone?” Our precious boy.

Add on top of that someone at work that I truly cared for has carelessly hurt me so deeply that I can’t even put into words how I feel, and, even though I have done absolutely nothing wrong and have done nothing to deserve the way I’ve been treated, has made a whole lot of people question my loyalty, integrity and character. He has made me look bad in order to look good, through no fault of my own. I don’t know what to do and I have no way to defend myself. I feel like I am holding together and forging ahead by sheer willpower, but I’m so very weary and so very hurt.

I just keep reminding myself to live my life so that Jason would be proud of me. I want to be proud of who I am and how I have treated others. I am responsible for my own actions and not those of others. As I said in an earlier post, “I want to live my life worthy and upright. I want Jason to be proud of me, to look down from that great cloud of witnesses and say to those around him, “Look at her!! That’s my mom!!” ” In my mind I picture that, when we stand before God in heaven, the story of our lives and how we treated others will be played on the big screen for all to see. Or, as the Bible says, “…There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that not will be made known. What you have spoken in the dark will be heard in the daylight, and what you have whispered in the inner rooms will be proclaimed from the housetops. (Luke 12:3)” I want the story of my life to be one that I can be proud of.

Keep me in your prayers this week. I really need it.

~Becky

© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney

Silent Grief – The “Aloneness” of Grief

Our Western culture has inadvertently conditioned us to avoid death and grief. Our society tends to isolate those who are struggling with illness, pain, death and grief — hoping that if we don’t see their pain and struggles, the pain doesn’t exist, and won’t alter our tidy and predictable lives.  We tend to behave as if death and pain are contagious diseases, ones that if we stay away from, we can avoid contracting ourselves.

I don’t believe this insensitivity is intentional. Society has not prepared us for how to deal with pain and loss. We are brought up to believe that life will remain predictable and under our control. Then when the unexpected, death or illness, does happen in our lives, we are ill-equipped to deal with the emotional pain, and upheaval, that it brings. Society subliminally sends us the message that we are expected to quietly bear our pain, while still maintaining our daily lives, ‘getting over’ our grief in a timely manner, while not unnecessarily disrupting anyone else’s life.

Unfortunately, for those grievers who are experiencing these life altering challenges, this unintentional alienation by those we were looking to for support, only further increases our suffering. The griever’s life is in pieces and we have no idea how to start to put the pieces together again.

Society’s expectations of the griever are unrealistic. For a griever who has lost a loved one, who was an integral part of their life, nothing will ever be the same, and the pain will always be there. Life is turned upside down. Learning to live with pain and grief is a process and one that cannot be forced.

https://theothersideofcomplicatedgrief.com/2016/02/10/grief-in-western-society-why-we-feel-so-alone/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

…Some of the details…are often kept quiet and hidden, our ‘silent grief’, as if these feelings are somehow shameful and aberrant. I have found that when we keep the details in the dark we are left feeling even more alone, isolated, and often doubting our sanity.

http://stillstandingmag.com/2014/01/silent-grief/

 

The promise of spring

 

img_8491

After Jason died, my husband, daughter and I had to drive by the crash site nearly every day on our way to wherever we were going – work, school, mall, etc. It was an incredibly difficult thing to do, an in-your-face reminder of the horrific event that happened at that very site.

In an effort to bring beauty into the darkness that spot represented, I bought daffodil and crocus bulbs and planted them on the side of the road – varieties of bright, yellow daffodils for Jason and purple crocuses for Alina. Alina loved the color purple, and bright, yellow flowers have always seemed to me to represent Jason’s bright, sunshine-y spirit and kind heart. That first year, I planted bulbs among the remnants of shattered glass from the cars that collided there.

Crocuses and daffodils bloom early in the spring, very near to the anniversary date of Jason’s and Alina’s deaths. As March 3rd approached, I watched for the promise of spring, for those bulbs to push through the ground with hope and beauty.

I wish I could say that beautiful daffodils and crocuses thrived and came up each spring as a symbol of new life from the harshness of death, as symbol of the hope of spring after a dark winter, but they didn’t. No matter how many times I planted the various bulbs or how much I tried to prepare that hard soil on the side of the road, they did not grow well or flourish. One year, though, a few plants pushed their way through the ground and the blooms actually opened on March 3rd. I gave it my best effort in trying to make beauty out of the ugliness.

My husband and I were out at the Biltmore Estate this past weekend, and I saw these flowers (in the picture above) – one little purple crocus looking up at a group of bright yellow daffodils. It reminded me of my efforts to bring the beauty of new life from the ugliness of death.

sc005b3ea6

Jason loved to giving flowers to the people he cared about. When he was in the play “Our Town,” he brought a rose to every girl who was in the show on the night of the final performance. He gave flowers to me, to Jenna, to his sweetheart. He gave daisies to a friend for her birthday. As a little boy, he would pick dandelions and bring them to me.

img_3605

Jason loved the movie “You’ve Got Mail.” When Joe Fox (Tom Hank’s character) brings Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan’s character) flowers when she was sick, he brought daisies and she said, “They’re so friendly. Don’t you think daisies are the friendliest flower?”  Yes, they are friendly flowers, indeed. They remind me of my boy and the kindness of his heart.

img_2131

Beautiful, friendly flowers remind me of you, my precious boy. I miss you. I love you.

~Mom

© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney

All photographs are specifically owned by Rebecca R. Carney and may not be copied or saved without permission.

Photographs and Memories

 

“Why are the photographs of him as a little boy so incredibly hard to look at? Something is over. Now instead of those shiny moments being things we can share together in delighted memories, I, the survivor, have to bear them alone. So it is with all the memories of him. They all lead into blackness. All I can do is remember him; I cannot experience him. Nothing new can happen between us.”

Nicholas Wolterstorff, Lament for a Son

 

~Becky

© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney