There is a long (but surely incomplete) list of stuff I can remember using to protect my kids from physical, emotional, psychological or spiritual harm: outlet covers, baby monitors, night lights, car seats, toilet locks, cabinet locks, stair gates, personal flotation devices, swim goggles, training wheels, helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, bug spray, sunscreen, sunglasses, coats, mouth guards, internet filters, my quick reflexes, my raised voice, my fervent prayers. I am hard wired to protect those sweet babies God blessed me with. I have not always been successful. Kids and situations are unpredictable. I’m not a perfect parent. I have failed, forgotten, ignored, overlooked. Like everyone else, I guess. But I am a pretty good parent. I have protected my kids from lots that they needed protecting from. Even though I have poured considerable energy and money into protecting my kids, I could not protect them from cancer. From melanoma. From death. From losing their dad to that wretched disease when they were just 14, 12, 12 and 8 years old. There was no gate to keep that horrible enemy out. No lock to stop it from entering my house. No spray, filter, or screen to shield my children from the devastation it caused. I am a woman of faith and God never left us, but the valley of the shadow of death is dark, scary, cold and unrelenting. When darkness pushed in, I gathered my children close, but I really could not protect them from reality. Daddy
was gone. He is gone. He is never coming back. Your life is forever changed. Some part of your precious, carefree innocence lost.
Death is lonely. I believe that we will see Dan again, but death is still lonely. I never expected this to be my story. He was only 40. We have 4 kids who need a dad. What am I supposed to do? I was terrified. Afraid of the finances, afraid of the dark at night, afraid of losing my mind. Mostly I was afraid that I wasn’t enough. How could I possibly fill the gap Dan left? How could I get 4 kids through the death of their father when I wasn’t even sure I could survive it? What would I say? Would his death be the event that sent their young lives into a downward spiral? I thought on more than one occasion that perhaps being left here with just me as their only parent was actually going to be the event that would be their demise. Fear loomed large and constant. So many fears. Overwhelming, crippling emotions.
We found The WARM Place a few months after Dan died. A hospice social worker had referred me and I took the kids to check it out. I had never heard of The WARM Place until Dan got sick. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the concept of it. How could there be enough kids and families who had experienced loss to make this place necessary? The name is an acronym that stands for What About Remembering Me, but walking through the doors of the building you can’t help but feel the emotional warmth in that place. It feels like you’ve walked into a sweet neighbor’s house. We were immediately welcomed with gentle smiles and a home like atmosphere. I admit that I actually dreaded going there the first time because I didn’t want to be in the situation we were in and going there made it seem that much more real. I was a widow and my kids had lost their dad. I didn’t want people looking at us and pitying us or feeling sorry for us. So why did I go there? Because I was desperate. As much as I felt like an emotional, exhausted mess, I knew I had to find a way to get my kids through this. I had seen and heard too many stories of children who had lost one parent to death and the other to grief. I resolved to do all I could to keep their lives moving forward in a positive way.
I could not have done it without The WARM Place. We started attending every other Thursday night. It started with a potluck dinner with all of the other families who were there for the very same reason we were. It was awkward at first because I could not stop thinking how sad it was that a room full of parents and children was all gathered here with deep pain in their hearts and one family member gone, never to share a meal with their family again. I was amazed and sort of puzzled at the families who had been attending longer. They smiled. They even joked and laughed. I wondered how or why they would smile or laugh at a place like this. At a time like this. I didn’t talk much for a while. I was polite but all I wanted to do was cry. That was ok. Not one person was offended or surprised. They knew where I was coming from and they knew where The WARM Place would take us. The potluck meal was always followed by the kids splitting into age appropriate groups and the parents meeting to support one another
with amazing facilitators there to help encourage and direct the group discussion. The kids did activities and crafts that I know they enjoyed. They may not have really known how to articulate
what grief was, but they had very real and very big feelings and were learning how to process those feelings with caring, attentive facilitators. I could go on and on about how much the parent support group helped me. I loved it there. I went from dreading showing up there to looking forward to it. I was privileged to sit in that circle with so many brave, honest, real people who were trying to hold the pieces together for their kids and were just as scared as I was. And brave. We didn’t crawl into bed, withdraw from the world and neglect our kids in the tragedy. We got them to a place that could help them. A place that could help us, too. I’m proud of us. Some of the best people I have ever met were in that group. We kept going for about 2 years. Thinking about the difference in where we were emotionally when we first crossed their threshold to where we ended up upon saying goodbye to The WARM Place makes me smile. Who would’ve thought, huh? I’m not saying The WARM Place was the beginning and end of our grieving. Not by a long shot. But I can sincerely say that The WARM Place gave us the understanding, support, tools and permission to grieve that we needed to continue our journey of grief in a healthy way. What a gift and a treasure. A lifeline.
I wish The WARM Place wasn’t needed. I wish no more kids had to lose a dad, or a mom, or a sibling. I wish all kids could be protected from that. But they can’t and The WARM Place continues to open it’s doors to those new families every day who never wanted to be there but who will leave there so blessed. The WARM Place never charges families a fee. It’s a free service to the families who benefit immensely from it. They depend on donations. Isn’t that amazing? It doesn’t even seem possible that something so valuable and top notch could be a gift but it is. That is why I am committed to helping raise funds for The WARM Place. No doubt, I sell tshirts every year around Dan’s birthday to honor his memory. It feels so good to remember him in that way and share that with so many people who may or may not have known him but want to help us remember and honor him. However, I also sell tshirts so I can give back to a place that gave so much to my family. I want to continue to raise funds because if I can be a small part of helping one child learn how to find a new ‘normal’ and process the immense grief they are experiencing, I truly believe I can affect not only that one child, but also generations to come. That one child will become an adult and maybe a parent ready to love and protect the next generation. It’s way bigger than me, or my family, or our grief.
Check out The WARM Place at www.thewarmplace.org. Go to
www.bonfirefunds.com/hugs4hope-2016 to buy a tshirt. All proceeds will benefit The WARM
Place. Thank you from the Smiths❤
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