Every Step Has a Story . . . And Then Some

I
will never forget the first time I met Daryl (not his real name) at his
home. I had received a call from his father asking if I minded coming
to their home to visit with Daryl. I was more than happy to oblige.

Daryl
was a friendly, energetic, articulate nine year-old boy. At first
glance, one would never know that Daryl carried a heavy burden of grief.
His winsome smile almost hid the sadness that lurked just under the
surface . . . Almost! One look into his eyes revealed the pain and
uncertainty that sought dominance in his life. The source of this pain?
Daryl's mother had died only one month before our meeting.

As I
sat down on the sofa across from Daryl and visited with both his father
and him, I sensed that Daryl was eager for his father to leave the room .
. . eager to tell me something . . . eager to talk about his sadness.
This eagerness was consistent with what his father had told me. It seems
that Daryl was somewhat reluctant to talk openly about his feelings of
sadness with his father and had asked his dad to find someone he could
talk to ~ thus the call to me.

After a few minutes, Daryl's
father excused himself and left the two of us alone in the living room.
Almost immediately, Daryl said, "My mom died and I don't understand why! Can you help me understand why she had to die?"
Wow! What a tall order! I knew that I did not have the answers to that
question ~ I'm not sure anyone does . . . at least in the ways he sought
to know. Instead of tackling the insurmountable, I suggested that he
tell me about his mom and he did so with passion, excitement and tears.

That
initial meeting was just the first of several over the next few months.
It seems that Daryl's father and mother had divorced two years prior to
her death. Daryl lived with her for the first year and a half after the
divorce. During that time period, his mother began to experience
frequent, excruciating headaches. Every time she experienced one, she
was unable to function to the point that eventually she and Daryl's
father agreed that Daryl might be better taken care of if he lived with
his father.

I recall as Daryl shared that part of his story with me that he stopped and his eyes focused on a faraway place and he said, "Mom said it was only a headache . . . only a headache."

The
weekend she died, Daryl was visiting her in her home in a state
contiguous to Texas. She had been feeling better and was confident that
the latest treatment for her headaches might be working. At the dinner
table on a Saturday night, she suddenly collapsed, complaining of severe
head pain. Daryl's grandmother quickly called 911 and the paramedics
took her to the hospital. Daryl's dad was notified and he rushed to
Daryl's side as quickly as possible. Before midnight that night, Daryl's
mother lost her battle to what was diagnosed ONLY after her death as a
brain tumor. Daryl was crushed!

Although the doctors misdiagnosed
her condition, Daryl believed that his mom "knew" she had a brain
tumor. He also believed that his mom told him "it was only a headache" to keep him from worrying about her. He said, "She was just that way . . . never wanted me to worry."

Daryl
found himself struggling to understand the incomprehensible . . . to
make sense of the senseless . . . to find meaning in the meaningless. He
did so with the support of a loving father, a caring extended family
and a community dedicated to lend invaluable comfort.

In the few
months that Daryl and I worked together, I watched him struggle, cry,
laugh, remember, express anger, sit quietly and find a path for his
personal journey. Daryl and his father began attending support sessions
at the The W.A.R.M. Place in Ft. Worth where they both found comfort and healing in the presence of others who walked similar paths.

I'm
not sure what happened to Daryl and his father. That is so often the
case with counseling; however, I am confident that they found
reconciliation of their grief and continue to walk the paths of healing
to this day~ Not because of anything I did, but because of their choices
to mourn their loss in ways that bring healing.

I will always
remember Daryl's courage, vulnerability and determination and I will
always remember Daryl. I am a better person for having known him.

I am hopeful that you can learn from Daryl as well.