On Friday, February 24th I drove an hour south for a professional day at another school. They had set up meetings for me with their staff and during one of those meetings I saw that I had a new voicemail and it was from Evan’s school. My heart began to race; I grabbed the phone and waited impatiently while the voicemail loaded. The message was from Jane, the head of the preschool, letting me know that Evan had an irritated eye and for me to look at it at pick up as there had been one case of pink eye in his class. Please note that when I dropped Evan off I told his teacher, Jamie, about his irritated eye. Of course it took hours for my panic to subside.
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The following Monday after I dropped Evan off, I saw Jamie in the preschool kitchen.
“Jamie, Jane called me last Friday about Evan’s eye.”
“Really? I did not know.”
“Please Jamie, just for me, unless it is an emergency can you make sure that I am not called. It’s just too hard right now. For me, I need to know that if I receive a phone call I need to pick Evan up immediately because he has a fever or needs stitches…it really needs to be an emergency.”
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The next morning Jane was waiting for me outside my classroom.
“Can we talk sometime today?”
“Sure. I can talk right now.”
“Okay, where?”
“Here? the library?”
“No, I do not feel comfortable.”
“Okay, I can come back to your office.”
So I followed Jane back to her office.
“Beth, I do not know if this is the right place for you. Jamie came to me shaking yesterday and a couple of other teachers came to me shocked as well.”
“Jane, it is just too hard for me to receive a phone call if it is not an emergency. Instead an email could be sent or a note put in Evan’s lunchbox or to have a teacher tell me at pick up. I’m sorry that she had to experience for 5 minutes the fear I experience every minute of everyday.”
“Beth…this is my policy and I called another mother about her daughter’s eye.” (Is she a bereaved parent?)
“But I had already told Jamie at drop off.”
“Oh there was a miscommunication. She said you told her three days earlier.” (there was no remorse in her tone) “I really need to be able to call.”
“Okay, fine. Then put down my husband’s number as the main contact.”
“Also, you should have come to me not to Jamie. She is the assistant teacher.”
“First of all you have never distinguished for us who is the assistant teacher and who is the lead teacher. Second of all, you are not so easy to reach. The last two times I have tried to talk to you it took three days.”
“That is not true.”
“You were out sick one day.”
“I was not out sick in the fall.”
“One day you were here, but you said she did not feel well enough to talk.”
“I probably did not have a voice.”
“You do not immediately answer your emails. You are not here first thing in the morning when the school opens and you do not stay until the school closes.”
“Beth…that is not true.”
“You just don’t understand.”
“I understand.”
“No you don’t understand.” (How could she? How did think she could? Why she a bereaved parent with post traumatic stress disorder fearful that every call from the preschool could be that she lost her other son? Was she in immense grief as the anniversary of her son’s birth and death were approaching?)
“Fine, this conversation is not going anywhere. We’re done.”
And I walked out hysterically sobbing.
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That night I sat in front of my computer angry and sad about what happened. Adam was out of town on business and I just felt lost about what I wanted to do. I needed to do something. And so I created a “friend”, Sarah Berman, to be my advocate.
February 28, 2012
Jane,
I was very sad to hear what happened today in speaking with Beth Galanté; although I do not know you, I am writing to you as an advocate for my good friend in the hope of gaining for her the support she needs right now. I am shocked that you could be so insensitive, especially on the day of Ethan’s first yahrzeit (anniversary of his death by the Jewish calendar). I’m sure you must be aware that it has been a year since her son’s birth and death since you were at his funeral.
I know that last year she always felt so supported at Evan’s preschool. Your teachers even celebrated her birthday. And that is why she has been coming in to volunteer each month to do pizza lunch and deliver challah. She cares so much about the preschool and has always loved its staff. She even asked that you and your staff be in invited to her school when they dedicate the bench in Ethan’s memory next month.
Hopefully in reading the following articles you can come to a better understanding of all that Beth is going through and form a better support system for her during these tough weeks ahead. Researchers have shown that survivors of accidents, disaster, and childhood trauma often endure lifelong symptoms ranging from anxiety and depression.
Grieving Parents Face Higher Risk of Early Death, Study Says
By CARRIE GANN (@carrie_gann) , ABC News Medical Unit
Sept. 8, 2011
Researchers at the University of York in the United Kingdom found that parents whose children died before their first birthday faced an increased risk of early death themselves. Their study followed more than 1,000 bereaved parents from the U.K. and found that parents in Scotland were more than twice as likely to die in the first 15 years following their child’s death as parents who had not lost a child.
Among bereaved mothers in England and Wales, the risk of early death was four times higher than nonbereaved parents. The researchers included parents who had stillborn babies as well as those who had children die within their first 12 months of life.
The study was particularly important to Dr. Mairi Harper, the report’s lead author, because she herself had a child who’d died several years before. She said she was surprised by what she and her colleagues found.
“There is evidence that bereavement is a risk factor for illness,” she said. “We did expect that bereaved parents would show a higher illness factor, but we did not expect their risk to be as great as it was.”
The study, published today in the British Journal of Medicine’s Supportive and Palliative Care, suggests several reasons for the increased rates of death among bereaved parents, such as weakened immune systems or perhaps some long-lasting biological effects caused by the stress of their loss. However, the authors noted that they could not rule out suicide as a frequent cause of death among bereaved parents.
The study is not the first to suggest that grief over the loss of a loved one could lead to early death. Scott Bea, a clinical psychologist at the Cleveland Clinic, said that previous studies had found that people who experienced the death of a spouse could die soon after their loss. But Bea said he believed that in the case of bereaved parents, lifestyle factors could play a role too in increasing the risk of early death.
“These are grief-stricken individuals who could acquire some really negative lifestyle factors, things that would predispose them to an early death,” Bea said, saying that some bereaved parents might turn to alcohol, drugs or an unhealthy diet to deal with the pain of their loss.
Harper said some of her previous research on bereaved parents did show increased rates of death because of drug and alcohol problems. But she doesn’t rule out the impact the stress of grieving can have on parents.
“My own personal opinion is that parents don’t get anywhere near the level of support and understanding they need to cope,” she said.
Harper said parents may believe that they must try to move on and get past the death of their child. But she said many of the bereaved parents in her study reported finding comfort in remembering the child who was gone.
“Being able to continue the relationship with their child, even if it was a symbolic one, was something the parents said was very helpful,” Harper said. She also urged parents to join support groups and connect with other mothers and fathers who have lost children.
The heartbreak of infant loss
By Laura Schubert
Oct. 6, 2011
Did you know that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month? I’ll bet not. Despite the infant mortality crisis that’s been at the forefront of Milwaukee’s public health news for months, the only people who have more than a cursory comprehension of what it means to lose a baby are those who’ve lived it.
Infant loss is nature’s cruelest practical joke. It’s investing all of the required time and effort into pregnancy, only to be robbed of the result. It’s cradling a body that grew within your own and trying to reconcile the cold, lifeless form in your arms with your memory of the baby who turned double flips in your womb.
It’s worrying that you’ll forget what your child looked like and snapping an album’s worth of photos that no one will ever ask to see. It’s sobbing so hard you can’t breathe and wondering if it’s possible to cry yourself to death.
Infant loss is handing off a Moses basket to the nurse who’s drawn the unfortunate duty of delivering your pride and joy to the morgue and walking out of a hospital with empty arms.
It’s boxing up brand new baby clothes and buying a 24-inch casket. It’s sifting through sympathy cards, willing your foolish body to stop lactating, clutching your baby’s blanket to your chest in hopes of soothing the piercing ache in your heart.
It’s resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you’ll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.
Infant loss is explaining to your 7-year-old that sometimes babies die and being stumped into silence when she asks you why. It’s watching other families live out your happy ending and fighting a fresh round of grief with every milestone you miss.
It’s being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It’s skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don’t want to put a damper on the party.
It’s listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you’ve buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.
Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It’s recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don’t know any better doesn’t make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.
My baby girl would have been 5 years old this month. I don’t know what she’d look like, what her favorite food would be. I’ve never had the privilege of tucking her into bed, taking her to the zoo or kissing her boo-boos. I will never watch her graduate or walk down the aisle.
Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It’s a life sentence.
While there was no response to Sarah Berman, we did receive this email a couple of days later on Ethan’s first birthday.
March 1, 2012
Dear Beth and Adam,
We are all thinking about both of you today and send our love.
Sincerely,
Jane and the Preschool Staff
March 1, 2012
Thank you. I really appreciate it.
Jane was there that day at pick up to give me a hug and she asked me to give Adam a kiss for her (he was busy reading a book to Evan & his friends). She looked like she was about to say more, maybe even apologize, when one of Evan’s friends interrupted “Jane, did you know that Evan’s mom has a baby girl in her belly?” Jane smiled and left the classroom.
