When someone you love dies (or when you feel a tremendous loss), everything changes—your hopes, your dreams, your way of living…everything—it’s as if you are closed off, living in a parallel universe and from your perch you are watching everyone else living.

Cindy knew what that felt like. To her journal she shared how vivid images of some of the more frightening things she could not talk about left her feeling “so alone … no one in the universe will ever understand … like I somehow live on a different planet from everyone else. Like I’m existing alongside them but always separate.”

Yes, after experiencing loss that leaves you wondering if you will ever be able to express your feelings and thoughts in a way that anyone could ever understand, your life will never be the same. But you can begin to start again—to discover a new life. (And no, in rediscovering your life, you aren’t being disloyal to the person who died.)

In another Blog post I’ll share some ideas for moving forward with greater ease, whether you feel your spirit, your pride, your perception of life, your expectations for the future, your self-worth, or anything else has been taken away.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

After awhile you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And to learn to build all your roads
On today because tomorrow’s ground
Is too uncertain for plans, and futures have
A way of falling down in mid-flight.
After awhile you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate
Your own soul, instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.
~By Veronica A. Shoffstall

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

“Some people may not realize this, but many of us seem to be doing much better on the outside than we are on the inside. I, for one, am tired of people saying, ‘You are doing so well with getting on with your life.’

“If they only knew what a wreck I am on the inside since my daughter died!

“I recently tried to take the next step in my grief and go to dinner with someone other than my spouse. But with all the stress I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown! So I called and said I couldn’t go.

“People look at me and say, ‘You look good,’ or they phone me up and say, ‘You sound great.’

“Sure, that’s the way I look or sound on the outside! But on the inside my heart just isn’t into much of anything! My heart is bleeding…it’s aching so bad!

“If they only knew the truth.

“What I suffer most is the loneliness…loneliness all the time. There was this dreadful loneliness during the recent Christmas holidays. And the thought of my daughter’s upcoming birthday, or the anniversary of her death…well those events, and so many other holidays, are going to bring back excruciating feelings again.

“I know everything will get easier…but I also know nothing will ever be the same.”

~Brianne

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

One minute I was laughing, well smiling at least, feeling a connection to my family, and the next minute I was in tears and escaping outside to try and breathe, overwhelmed with grief and just wanting my sister Cindy to be with us again. Please, just one more time, I pleaded to the universe—just for a few minutes longer. I held tight to the railing around her deck and sobbed until my mother found me and cried with me. I just wanted Cindy back…if only for a few moments…if only!

The above is a common desire for anyone in grief.

So I have to ask…if you could have your spouse/partner/significant other/beloved back with you, in good health, for one hour, how would you spend the time?

—Getting a BIG hug (one where you stand there and hug each other so tight) to last you after your hour was gone?

—Spending the whole hour in whatever way s/he would select?

—Hearing the laugh and the voice and seeing the smile you miss so much?

—Sitting at home and looking into those eyes and saying “I Love you” one more time and knowing s/he heard it?

—Using part of the time to introduce him/her to new family members?

—Asking, “What happened?” or “What’s it like now?”

—Saying, “Thank you for….”

I’d really like to know. 

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

Dem Leben sind Grenzen gesetzt, die Liebe ist grenzenlos.

Life has limits, but love has no bounds.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

Have you experienced the death of a child? This Blog post will give your heart wings.

Here is the voice of an angel coming from a six-year-old girl.

Listen as Connie Talbot sings, in her Debut album Over The Rainbow, her rendition of Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You…it’s remarkable!

Here is a story that has varying versions for the beginning as people have adapted it to themselves (Thanks for passing this version on to me Ken):

I arrived at the address where someone had requested a taxi. I honked but no one came out. I honked again, nothing. So I walked to the door and knocked. Just a minute answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, and then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. “It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”

“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”

“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said, “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.” I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

“What route would you like me to take?” I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You have to make a living,” she answered.

“There are other passengers,” I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
”You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said.

“Thank you.”

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware — beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

You won’t get any big surprise in 10 days if you send this to ten people. But, you might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate by sending it on.
Thank you, my friend…

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

When you feel you are completely depleted, volunteer and help others.

Have you heard the saying: “The healer, while healing the wounds of others, is healing his own wounds.”

Loving and dying are part of the same life circle. And when you make yourself available to others, you are a part of the continuum of healing.

And when you see the smiles you put on the faces of others…well, those are the blessed gifts to help you weather the tough times.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

“When you are young, 60, 70 and certainly 80 years seem like an eternity. But after you have lived it, you realize it is but a moment.”
~Elizabeth

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

These days I hear the following words (or something akin to them) in so many places (in movies, in books, in the e-newsletter I received yesterday morning promoting an upcoming movie, even during the intro of last night’s Season Eight of American Idol…):

“Life is a journey, not a destination,” and,

“Live each day as if you will die tomorrow, but plan as if you will live forever.”

But what does it mean for a person healing through grief?

It means, despite the harsh reality of everything that is going on in your life, wake up each day and have an intense gratitude that you are still alive and don’t let the day go by unappreciated. And, as difficult as it might be, at the end of the day recount one good thing (or more) that happened.

This is a way for you to start living in the moment —of seeing the wonder of the moment –of enjoying your life as never before –of focusing on the now –of healing.

Sometimes it seems next to impossible to feel positive or to think of counting your blessings when your life feels as if it is in a tailspin…when it feels like you are certainly out of control of anything and you want to shut yourself away from the world.

Just take baby steps. That’s all I’m suggesting. Try it.

Give yourself permission to feel the negative and the positive.

Yes, there are positives and blessings among the sadness:
—Did someone ask how you are doing (an invitation for you, if you choose, to release some pain)?
—Did someone extend a kindness to you?
—Did you reminisce about beautiful memories with your beloved?
—Are you thankful for caller ID?
—Did you appreciate the comics in the newspaper?
—Did you enjoy time with your pet–did s/he make you smile as s/he gave you love and attention?
—Did a friend uplift your spirits?
—Did you read something inspirational or encouraging or positive to give you hope and strength to continue through another day?
—Are you thankful that your grief journey is not at an intense point today?
—Were you gentle with yourself?

…

Having a moment of thanks for something can make you feel good—it gives you the opportunity to recall a positive instead of always feeling overwhelmed and paralyzed by grief and loss.

Take it one day at a time…and think about starting a gratitude journal.

Or try writing out each of your “thanks” on different pieces of paper. Keep them someplace close to you (perhaps in a memory book or under your pillow or in a secret place) and whenever you need a lift you can reread them.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James