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Textile art is not something I see a lot of, so had to share this.

Jacqui Parkinson, also known as Jacqui Frost, is a textile artist who lives in Devon, England. In 2007 she lost her first husband, Rev. Rob Frost to cancer. In the midst of her isolating grief, she felt the urge to do something both artistically and physically. She took up running and during those long runs had the time to start processing ideas to link her grief experience into art.

She initially used vintage handkerchiefs, stitching words and ideas onto it like a canvas. The colors were mostly blacks, grays, and reds and when finished the handkerchiefs were stretched and then fastened to metal frames and exhibited in Exeter Cathedral in Devon.

The response was so positive, many people identifying with the images and words, that photographs of the textiles were taken and a book entitled "Good Grief?" was published by Threads Publishing. The book includes the photographs of the textiles, but also a textile figure, lino prints and words all working together to communicate the pain of Jacqui's personal journey.

The words that match the textile art are more like poems, for example a detail photograph of a textile piece with a clock bordered by the words 'time does not heal' and in red large print "presentfuture" that is stitched below has an adjacent page with the written words, "Thoughts of ageing alone into the years ahead so strange/ unbelievable /a borderless page with no words/ a stiff canvas with no paint/ a stretch of fabric with no stitch/ so how to begin the years ahead/ alone."

In the past we've mentioned other artists who use a medium reflective of grief itself, like Motoi Yamamoto who uses salt, representing tears of grief and Julie Williams who photographs water, again reflective of tears.  Here is yet another artist, using handkerchiefs which themselves symbolize grief.

To see sample pages of Jacqui's book follow this link.  Photographs of the textiles displayed in the cathedral exhibition can be seen here.

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This is a unique one, and something I stumbled upon listening to an old podcast from Radiolab produced by NPR.

There is a town in France, situated in the suburbs of Paris called Garches. The town has a large trauma hospital, Raymond Poincare, where most of the vehicle accidents come to be treated. Unlike other hospitals that have similar amounts of death from chronic disease and trauma, this hospital has mostly trauma related deaths. In fact approximately 450 deaths a year from injuries. The pathologist began to notice that the trauma deaths had a negative impact on the family members ability to grieve.  Family members walking into this hospital were in shock, and came to claim the bodies of loved ones who were very much alive the last time they were seen.

Thus, a space was created in attempts to palliate the shock. It is both a chapel and a  morgue, where the body is placed for the family to view and say goodbye. The name of this room is Salle Des Departs (translated departure hall or room).  The room was designed by Italian artist Ettore Spalletti, and is meant to be relaxing and beautiful with blue tones and minimalism elements.  The space needed more than calming hues, so two music compositions were commissioned from David Lang and Robin Rimbaud (aka Scanner) to be played in the background if the family chose.

Interestingly, both Lang and Scanner had experiences with traumatic deaths in their past. Scanner, who's father had died in a motorcycle accident, identified with how the lack of formal mourning affected his family and used his own experience in his piece.

Lang, too, was very thoughtful in his work, writing a piece that could not be reproduced in a live setting. He felt that since the piece was about death, to be able to produce it in a live setting would be cheating. His instructions on the sheet music says "like angels", and through the production process, the female chorus never takes a breath, singing in an eternal, beyond human.

He said in the Radiolab episode, "I was trying to make the environment, that would have been the right environment for the experiences that I have already had."  He had to be careful, though, as music so powerfully can manipulate our emotions. He acknowledges this challenge saying, ""Music...bypasses all of your normal protection mechanisms, it goes to the place of you which is not dealing with language or rationality. ... it has this ability to go around all of your defenses. I wanted to make something which gave people permission to examine which way they wanted to go with their emotions."

I've listened to both pieces, which are very different. I wonder if families choose, or if one piece is always played first if they ask for music? In Scanner's piece you hear different voices, water, insects and birds pierced occasionally with synthesized keyboard music, whereas Lang's piece is simply 3 Cello's and female chorus.

You can listen to David Lang's "Departs" with some photos of the Salle Des Departs on Vimeo here.  To listen to the Radiolab podcast follow this link. The Scanner piece, "Channel of Flight" can be listened to if you have RealPlayer through a download here.

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Annie Tempest is a British cartoonist by trade, the author of  Tottering-by-Gently, a strip that runs in the UK magazine Country Life.  Most recently, however, she's moved into sculpting and had an exhibition in London this past month called "Play as Cast"

Communication

Her sculpting, like so many other artists, became a way to deal with the grief of the death of her son.  Freddy Tempest McConnel died last May, at the age of 18, of a heroin overdose. Annie said in an interview with Louette Harding of The Daily Mail,  "That's how I've been dealing with it. I haven't seen therapists; it's sculpting that has kept me going. Because it wasn't just on 28 May and afterwards; before that, we'd been through the highs and lows of recovery and relapse...It's been hope, crash, hope, crash - heights as well as depths... my sculpture has helped me through."

How many of our patients and families use those same terms dealing with terminal illness? "Hope, crash, hope, crash..." they talk about the roller coaster they're on, even in the last days.

Anguish

 One piece that is not on display is something she did right before he died and about which she had her last conversation with her son.  She says of the piece, "A week before Freddy's death, I knew in my heart he was gone.." She describes it as, "Two figures, fighting to hold on and to let go. It's a goodbye...It looks like a fight, but it's also a hug...It's two adults hugging and pushing. I was a primal scream." She actually sent her son a picture of the piece and his emailed reply to that was her last communication with him, he wrote "Mum, I absolutely understand and love your sculpture, I'm sorry. I so want to beat this. Love, Fred."

Solace and Seclusion

Although I haven't seen the piece, I think this too would be something our patient's families would resonate with.  There is a pushing and pulling when a loved one dies; we want them to stay but don't want them to suffer - what a great visual of a hug/push.

Each of the pieces communicates so well with the use of three dimensional space. I encourage you to see all of the images from the gallery at this link.


As an aside. Freddy was an aspiring musician, and tragically one of the songs he wrote, "Will You Remember Me" is about an early death. You can listen to this and other songs at http://soundcloud.com/user7770177


To read more from the interview with Louette Harding go here. 

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When composer Nigel Westlake's 21 year old son was suddenly and tragically killed in 2008, he didn't think he'd be able to write music again.  An entire year went by before Westlake realized he couldn't spend the rest of his life stuck in grief.

Walking back into the studio again after so much time, he found a previously written piece lying on his desk called Missa Solis.  He'd forgotten about the piece and began thumbing through it again, finding an old Italian poem he had put to music about the sun.  It reads, "My joy is born every time I gaze at my beautiful sun, but my life dies when I cannot look at it. For the very sight is bliss to me. Oh sun, immortal life giver, do not hide, for I know that when I am unable to see you, life could not be worse."

In his current grief stricken state, the context changed.  All he could think about was his son, the similarities to the sun could not be ignored.  He began to write and work again, using this poem as a starting point. Daily his work became like therapy, a way to put the spirit of his son to rest.

The orchestral requiem premiered in October 2011 with the Sydney Symphony, but has just recently won Australia's Orchestral Work of the Year.

The work is in 8 movements, lasting 44 minutes. It really is breathtaking, and I encourage you to listen to it in its entirety.  You can watch video from the premiere from BigPond.com by following this link.

The titles of the movements are as follows: Prologue, At the Edge, Song of Transience, Aurora, Nasce la gioia mia, Hymn to the Atan, Sidereus Nuncius, and O Sol Almo Imortal.  


Some of the themes are less subtle when dealing with death, as the Song of Transience which is an excerpt from the Tibetan book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche. There is a solo in this movement, by a young male treble singer. I couldn't help but think of Westlake's own son as the boy sang.  To read more notes from each movement visit this website written by Westlake himself.

If you cannot listen to the entire orchestral work, YouTube does have snippets from the 5th movement and the final movement.  You can hear the climactic choral section below, interspersed with percussion that reminds one of fireworks or gunshots. Just when you think it is over a sudden quiet and peaceful ending with the strings section occurs, symbolizing a laying to rest.


Once again, from death, art has been created. I'm grateful to artists like Nigel Westlake for courageously allowing us to experience the process.

*photo from the Australian Broadcasting Network piece on Nigel Westlake. 

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Araya Rasdjarmrearnsook is an art teacher and one of Thailand's' foremost female artists.  She had her first solo show in New York last month with a video exhibition showing historic art history pieces from western culture to rural and religious people in Thailand in an exhibit titled "Two Planets/ Village and Elsewhere"

However, for me, it is her previous work I wanted to touch on for this post.  Araya first made headlines in the US with an group exhibit in 1996. More controversy came in late 1990's and early 2000's when her exhibits began incorporating corpses.

In works such as "The Class II" Araya is seen on video lecturing a classroom of corpses. The topic for this lifeless class? Death.  You'll see her ask the dead bodies, "Did you die in autumn?"  You can see this video on YouTube here. I was struck by the seriousness of her tone as she interacts with the class on a topic they surely must know.




 In "Conversations I, II and III" she meanders through a room of corpses humming.  In "This is Our Creations" she actually lies down next to the bodies and is heard saying, "I came here to know you, lying here motionless. Once my father sent me a postcard from very far away. Its sentence: only a still pond can reflect the starts."

My first thought was, what experiences has this woman had with death that has led her to express herself in this way? I had to do much searching to find the answer, but in an interview in 2005 with Oliver Benjamin, she told her story.

Her father was a physician, and at the age of 3, as her mother labored in childbirth with her father as physician, her mother died.  A week later the young sister born also died. In the following 3 years she lost a step sister aged 18 months, her grandmother and great grandmother. As she said in her interview, "From this reason, I guess, I have been interested in examining death"

When you look back, even to her etching "The Dream of Mother" in 1990,  you can see the processing of her life events.

Sometime in there, her father then died of cancer. In response, new pieces such as "The Dinner with Cancer I" and "Th Dinner with Cancer II" were done.

Araya has used art as a way to deal with death. Specifically in her words, "I choose art as process of thought for the meaning of death".  Araya spoke of that meaning in an interview with Brian Curtin in 2007 saying "In reality, life and death should not be understood as opposites. People deal with death by trying to hide it. They hide death behind ritual or hope to prevent it with medicine. I want people to have more imagination and confront reality!"

In the interview with Oliver Benjamin in 2005 she concluded talking about the topic with, "I'm tired of death! May be too much."  That's the goal isn't it? To work with our patients and families to process through it? For now the artist does seem done with death, as her art has moved on to exploration of different ideas.

Whether you are repelled or connected to Araya's work with death, it's what I love about art - a vehicle to express ideas which then stimulate the viewers mind.

To see works listed up until 2002 visit this site. For those 2002 and on visit here.


Oliver Benjamin interview published in Citylife magazine Oct. 2005
Brian Curtin interview published in Art Signal Oct. 2007
Works in order of appearance "Conversation I" (2005),  "The Dream of Mother" (1990) and "The Dinner with Cancer I" (1993)

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I am often drawn to artists who have experienced death and then use their work to process the loss.  Julie Williams is just such a person.  She is an Australian photo-artist, who in 2004 lost her partner.  In an effort to work through her grief, Williams began to visit familiar places in nature.  One spot she kept returning to, was a waterhole in the Hartley Valley.  It seemed that as a drought back in 2004 the valley ended, and the River Lett began to flow again, her grief also moved with it.  She picked up her camera and began to photograph the water, the light, and the movement.

                                                                   
Each time she returned over the next weeks, months and then years, the waterhole was different. A metaphor for her journey, that grief seems to change moment by moment, just as the water flow changed.  The subject matter itself, being water, is somewhat symbolic of grief - as we think of tears being shed, of streams down someone's cheeks.  Williams herself has pointed out that even the images, elusive and inexplicable, can be like grief itself. 

These works were on display this fall, entitled "When first knew this place" at the Western Plains Cultural Centre in Dubbo, NSW, Australia.  Williams says of the title, "The grief pulled me up, the water drew me in and that was when I began to really see. It was when first I knew this place."   When asked about her upcoming plans, Williams told an interviewer that she wasn't done with the waterhole yet, that it continues to keep drawing her back.

Personally, I enjoy seeing images of every day surroundings,  portrayed in such a way that they appear magical, moving, or unrecognizable.  These images then to me, are aesthetic and mean even more in the context of grief.

To see a complete collection of the artists works, visit her page here.
The above images are "Untitled # 3" and "Untitled # 21", both copyright 2011 Julie Williams

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There are multiple ways an artist may choose to deal with personal grief.  Some allow the theme of their work to capture their feelings. Artist Motoi Yamamoto has taken his grief work one step further by choosing a medium that itself is symbolic of death.

Yamamoto was in art school in 1996 when his 24 year old sister died, just two years after her diagnosis of brain cancer. Immediately he began to use art as a way to deal with his grief. His exploration led him to the medium of salt, which is a part of the death ritual in Japan. At the end of funerals, mourners are handed salt to sprinkle on themselves as a way to ward of evil spirits.

Not only is salt a funeral ritual, it is also allows his masterpieces to be impermanent. When the exhibit is finished, the piece is destroyed, and visitors are encouraged to take some salt and place it back in the sea. Symbolic, I think, of human life; a masterpiece that must come to an end, and the body returned back to the elements from which it was formed.

To create the works, Yamamoto uses a simple plastic bottle, often taking 50 hours or more to complete. The amount of salt used is expansive, in the range of 2000 pounds and up.

When you look at his installations, it is obvious that the process is tedious and time consuming. This too is intentional, as Yamamoto said in an interview with the Japan Times, "I draw with a wish that, through each line, I am led to a memory of my sister... That is always at the bottom of my work. Each cell-like part, to me, is a memory of her that I call up"

I find the work breathtaking in both the intricacy and the overall finished project.

To see a video of Yamamoto at work see below or follow this link.

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This HBO documentary looks into the life and death of Diane Schuler. In 2009, Diane was involved in a head on collision that killed her daughter, 3 nieces, 3 men in the other vehicle and herself (her son was the only survivor). It analyzes Diane's life through her friends and the hours leading up to the accident through cell phone calls, police, eye witnesses and surveillance video. She had been noted to be driving erratically and then drove the wrong way on an interstate for 1.7 miles. An autopsy of Diane revealed a blood alcohol level of 0.19 and high level of marijuana in her system.

To Diane's grieving husband, she was a perfect wife and mother. He is adamant that she would never have drank while in the car with the children and that the results of the autopsy are false. He has contested these findings even after the discovery of a bottle of vodka in the car. He grasps at any possibility (a tooth abscess she had several years ago causing her to have a stroke which led to her drinking the alcohol by mistake).

What interested me are all of the interviews of the family members on both sides. Her husband, family members and friends reminiscing about the Diane they knew and looking for any answers, any other medical reasons she behaved the way she did. On the other side, the family members of the 3 men killed in the vehicle she hit, angry that her husband continues to deny what the evidence shows. (The parents of the three nieces killed did not participate in the documentary.) It even goes into the grief and trauma of the witnesses to the accident.

Most of what they present is from the view of Diane's husband and sister-in-law. You find yourself wanting to buy into their blind faith in Diane, even though you know what the evidence shows.

The documentary is very well put together. It easily moves from the accident to the distant past to the present. They integrate the medical and other evidence along with psychiatric assessments of the Diane and her family. (The graphic accident photos I could have done without). It's a medical mystery along with a unique perspective on grief. What happens if the person you are grieving is possibly at fault in the loss? Was she really the person that everyone thought they knew?

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British graphic designer Ross Mackintosh lost his father in 2009 to prostate cancer.  Like many artists before him, he turned to art to process the events. In fact, he told Deborah Vankin in an interview for the Los Angeles Times, "I created the comic for myself, as a way of removing pictures and phrases from the maelstrom in my head. The secondary purpose was a subconscious need to express to my mom and brothers that the awful events didn't just happen quietly"

The medium he chose, however, was not his usual computer based work, but that of cartoon. Many of his memories and experiences were so visual that he decided to draw them out. The outcome is a stunning and beautiful tribute to Mackintosh's father. The graphic novel, published by Com.x in April is entitled "Seeds".

I was drawn immediately to the images;their minimalist nature serves the heavy topic well. The reader journeys from time of diagnosis to time of funeral. Interspersed in the narrative of the events are deeper concepts such as genetics, relationships and purpose.  Also accompanying the story are the very real moments of humor and tragedy. It is this combination that allows the reader to connect and perhaps even find their own personal stories in this work.

Mackintosh's father spent time in hospice and there is a great conversation where the physician communicates prognosis by saying "When people in your father's position deteriorate monthly, they usually have months to live....When they deteriorate weekly, they usually have weeks to live.... Your father has been deteriorating daily..."

The medium of cartoon really forces the themes and concepts to be whittled down to absolutes... gone is the ability to hide in verbose prose or get lost in mundane details. This really makes this graphic novel quite raw, and most of the reviewers I read mentioned reading with lumps in their throats, as the images and few words struck familiar nerves of mortality and loss.

This certainly is one that should be considered for our personal and/or palliative medicine libraries and it may very well attract unsuspecting readers going through the experience of loss.

All images are Copyright Ross Macintosh.

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Paul Hill is regarded as one of the most influential photographers of Great Britain and is best known for his work "White Peak, Dark Peak". (1990 Cornerhouse)  He has spent his life photographing and teaching photography near his home is in Derbyshire, Northern England.  One of the unique things he and his wife, Angela, did was in1976 to establish "The Photographer's Place", a location for photographers to gather for study, retreat, and a workshop environment.


After 40 years of marriage, Angela was diagnosed with cancer, and in 2006, 2 years after her diagnosis, died from the disease. Her husband then began his journey into an uncertain world without her.  His photographs became his response to the grief he was experiencing. His work was published in November and is entitled "Corridor of Uncertainty" (2010 Dewi Lewis Publishing)

The title itself is steeped in metaphor.  Although those of us in the states may be unfamiliar with the phrase, it actually comes from the sport of cricket, and refers to a place that a batsman struggles most to determine whether to play the ball or leave.  Apropos for someone mourning...  Paul Hill writes, "Bereavement, for me, is being between two states: what has been and what may take place in the future. The work that I have made mirrors this interstice"

We have seen other artists document death, but I found it interesting that he writes about his images, "Of course they are informed by the harrowing experience of my wife's fatal illness, but I did not - could not- document her decline directly."

When I glance through the images I am struck by the emotional nature of the pictures. Even had you not known his wife had died, looking through the images as a collection, you'd surely have felt that something tragic had occurred. The images are quite raw and intimate and I'm grateful that Paul Hill decided to share his process with us.

His book is not the end of the matter either, in fact, it seems to be just the beginning. Currently Paul Hill is involved in a research project looking at photography, bereavement and grief. A website at De Montfort University explains the hopes for the project.

I encourage you to take a minute to glance through some of the images from his book, follow this link to do so.

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I finally got around to seeing Rabbit Hole, which just came out on DVD in April.  It stars Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart, who portray a couple that has lost their young son to a tragic accident.    The teaser from Rotten Tomatoes says it "is a vivid, hopeful, honest and unexpectedly witty portrait of a family searching for what remains possible in the most impossible of all situations"  Simple translation: This is a movie about grieving.

The couple deals with their grief in two totally different ways. Becca (Kidman) seems to want to erase everything that reminds her of her son and rarely shows emotion. In one scene her husband Howie (Eckhart) confronts her about this, "You're trying to get rid of him.......You have to stop erasing him. You have to stop it!"  To which she answers "Do you really think that I don't see him every second of every day?.........It feels like maybe I don't feel badly enough for you. Maybe I'm not feeling enough. What do you want from me?"

Howie has several angry outbursts in the movie, which seem to be part of his grieving process. He also strikes up a friendship with a woman from his grief group, played by Sandra Oh.

The grief group has some stereotypic characters, including another couple who has spiritualized the loss of their own child. Becca's confrontation of this made me smile.  The couple shares that the reason their daughter died was because God "needed another Angel"  to which Becca pipes up, "Why didn't He just make one?... I mean He's God after all?!?  Why didn't He just make another Angel?"

Interestingly we learn that Becca's brother died years prior, so Becca's mother Nat(Dianne Wiest) has great potential to be of comfort, if Becca would allow her to be. Finally towards the end, Becca connects with her mom and their exchange is one of my favorite moments of the movie. I love how Nat describes grief.

Becca: Does it ever go away?

Nat: No, I don't think it does. Not for me, it hasn't, and that's goin' on eleven years. It changes, though.

Becca: How?

Nat: I don't know....the weight of it, I guess. At some point, it becomes bearable.It turns into something that you can crawl out from under and...carry around like a brick in your pocket. And you... you even forget it, for a while. But then you reach in for whatever reason and - there it is. Oh right, that. Which could be awful- But not all the time. It's kinda...not that you like it exactly, but its' what you have instead of your son, so you don't wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn't go away, which is...."

Becca: What?

Nat: Fine...actually.

Overall, I thought this was a good movie about grief. The characters do heal during the movie, which is always nice to find your characters growing. I also enjoyed the sub context looking at the question of where one finds comfort in grief. This was mentioned and explored outwardly in many ways, from looking to religion, to other relationships, and even to parallel universes.

If you haven't seen it, check it out and do let us know what you think.

Also, here's the trailer if you want to get a feel for the movie visually.

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This is the final selection on this mini series on children's books that deal with grief.  I'm sure we'll review more books in the future, however these were the 5 books my local rural library had on hand.  It ended up being a nice eclectic mix and hopefully illustrates the variety out there.

Grandma I'll Miss You is written by Kathyrn Slattery and illustrated by Renee Graef.  The book was published by Chariot Books in 1993 and is listed for ages 4-8.

The main character in this book is Katy, who is dealing with some very mixed emotions. She is aware her grandmother is dying and she is also anticipating the birth of a new sibling.  This book uniquely brings in the idea of birth being similar death.


The beginning of the book is very story like, spending most time on Grandma's life. I suppose you could say this is the life review portion, as Grandma shares memories from her life.  As in the last two books reviewed, one of the big questions Katy has is "What will happen to Grandma when she dies? and Is there really such a place as heaven?" Unlike the other books these are just thoughts Katy has and aren't directly addressed.

What is refreshing is that Katy actually asks her grandma, "are you afraid about dying?" This leads to a creative illustration linking death and birth together. The grandma admits her slight fear, but then tries to put herself into the unborn babies shoes, as the baby too has no concept of what it will soon experience.

The next pages are very Christian based in concepts about heaven, and about getting a new body there. Katy and her Grandma wrap up the conversation and then the very next morning the Grandma dies. I did appreciate the statement on the book's last page, "Death, in its way, was as natural a part of life as birth", something we in palliative care definitely understand.

The illustrations in this book are simple and realistic. There isn't any thing that stands out in color scheme or medium used.

In terms of recommendation, this book probably has the most narrow audience of the one's we've reviewed. If it is line with a family's personal beliefs, then it would be a good conversation book, though it seems geared to older than the quoted 4-8 yr. old.  I did enjoy the normalization of death as similar to birth, and think there could be some other concepts related to that link to help grieving kids.

To sum up these last 5 book reviews, it seems that a common theme for children's books are the "What happens after?" questions.  3 books had different answers, and if that is the question your child is asking, it would be important to find a book with the answer you want to share!  The other type of book seems to be about grief itself - normalizing feelings and emotions one goes through in the process.

I hope to keep reading and familiarizing myself with what's out there so that when families ask me what to do, I'll be able to delve into the issue of concern, and make some more informed recommendations!

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This next book in our series may be chosen by some simply for the beautiful illustrations.  This is one reason I wanted to spend time reviewing some books on childhood grief.  Although great lists exist out there, we don't often get to see inside the book itself.  Having a toddler myself, I am aware that it is often the illustrations that spark her interest in reading.

Somewhat like our last review on Maria Shriver's book What's Heaven?, author T.A. Barron describes this book as autobiographical. The personal nature of the story definitely adds to the sincerity of the story.

Where is Grandpa? is written by T.A. Barron and illustrated by Christ K. Soentpiet. The book was published by Philomel Books in 2001 and has the age group listed as 4-8.

The voice is first person, and the plot follows a young boy on the day of his Grandpa's death. Much of the story is told in memories, as each family member shares about a  favorite time with Grandpa.  However, when it is the boy's turn he is speechless. After being prompted by his mother about a story he thinks, "Even if I did, I didn't feel like telling it."

Although the family tries to think of suggestions, I appreciate that the boy is allowed to remain silent. The boy then works up the courage for the big question, "Where is grandpa now?"

The final pages attempt to answer this question.  Although the word heaven is used, the father quickly adds, "heaven means different things to different people. And it's hard to explain."  Ultimately it is described as "any place where people who love each other have shared some time together."  This allows the boy to get out of his sad funk and begin to think of the places he shared a memory with his grandpa. In fact the last illustration of the book shows the boy actually smiling.

As mentioned, the illustrations are exquisite. Done with a very realistic feel, there are a lot of nature scenes with special attention on the lighting. Most of the story takes place at dusk, and the illustrator actually moves us subtly  through a sunset to darkness during the book.

This is another book I would recommend. It is lighter than some of the other books reviewed, not tackling as many concepts or questions.  However, I appreciate the simplicity and hope offered in the story.  Like the Shriver book, because this is based on a personal story, we encounter this family's personal beliefs/opinions and one should be comfortable in the concepts presented.


One more to book to go... stay tuned.

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This next book in our series of children's books that deal with grief has a famous author, which will often add to the appeal in buying a book. Perhaps from the media's input, I had also already heard of this book before actually getting it from the library.

The author, Maria Shriver, points out on the back that this book came from actual discussions with her 6 year old, at the time of the daughter's great-grandmother's death. I think knowing that perspective helps in the review as well, since the previous books Tear Soup and When Someone Dies was written by a hospice worker and grief counselor, respectively.

What's Heaven? is written by Maria Shriver and illustrated by Sandra Speidel. Published by Golden Books in 1999, the age listed for reading 4-8.

Although the title would imply a book all about Heaven there are definitely other topics covered.  The plot line follows Kate who comes home to find her mother sad and news that her great-grandmother has "died and gone to Heaven".  This prompts not questions about death or what "died" means but questions about what Heaven is.  The concepts specifically in question are:  Where Heaven is?,  Are animals there? and How do you get there?  I think these are questions I myself would like to know!

There is also discussion about what a funeral is and thanks to cousin Bobby, questions about the actual casket. Here's an example of a conversation Kate has with her mom: "Bobby told me we are going to a funeral where we are going to bury Great-grandma in a box. Why are we going to do that? Will it hurt Great-grandma? How will she breathe in the box? What if she wants to get out?"

As is typical of little ones, there are many more questions than answers in the book.  As parents have learned, it's more about the concept we are sharing than the specifics of each question.  This book is similar, the general message is one of hope; that after death there is a distant, safe place where all the best parts of someone goes... that it's okay to be sad and it won't last forever and that by remembering our loved ones they remain alive in us.

The illustrations are done in pastels, with a more vibrant feel than some of the grief books I've seen.  The pastel's also allow for a dream like or memory like quality, as sharp details are left out.  There are a lot of words on each page, and no paragraphs, perhaps emulating the way children can move from one topic to another in stream-less fashion.  Each page does have one phrase that is doubled in font size, I suppose then if just browsing the book you could pick up on the highlights.

If you have a child with some of these specific questions, it would be a great book! What's challenging in these types of personal stories, is that your family may not agree with all of the concepts presented.  For instance if you don't want to teach your child, "when your life is finished here on earth, God sends angels down to take you up to Heaven to be with him" Then you'd have to either skip the page or do some other teaching on what your family concept is.

In comparison with the other books reviewed thus far, this book is by far the most specific in terms of one family's beliefs and/or opinions.  And rightly so, as the author makes no presumption of being an expert, but simply using her own experience to share with others...

Stay tuned, we have a few more to review!

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As mentioned in the first in this series on children's literature dealing with grief, there is an abundance of material out there to recommend to families with children dealing with grief.  In fact, it's often overwhelming with so many choices.  Hopefully this random sample from my local library will, if nothing else, illustrate the wide variety of books out there.

Often until you actually see inside the book yourself, it's hard to know which book is the right one. In fact, if you went on just book lists, the book I'm reviewing today is by far on more lists than any other books I'm reviewing, making me assume it is very popular. Yet without reading it, as you may see, I wouldn't have discovered it's unique style, different than Tear Soup, or even The Goodbye Boat reviewed in an earlier post.

When Someone Dies is written by Sharon Greenlee and illustrated by Bill Drath. Published in 1992 by Peachtree publishers it is written for a reader aged 8-12.

The book is considered plot-less, with each page making more of a conversational statement in second person. This approach seems to lend itself to a normalizing of the emotions and issues surrounding grief.  The statements center around feeling sad and mad, but also about concepts of dreaming of your loved one, and worrying if other people around you will die too.  For example, here are some of the statements:

 "If the person who died was very important to you, you get to worrying that all the other important people might leave too.  I've never heard of it happening that way, but it's hard not to think about it"

"When people die, they can't come to your house anymore. You wonder what they'd look like now, and you do all you can to make a picture of them in your mind."

Towards the second half the author begins to task the reader to actually do some things such as finding someone to cry with and writing a letter to the person who died.

Besides normalizing grief with the second person speech, I noticed that the word "dies" is used 10 times out of  a total of 15 pages of statements.  I can't help but think even using the word is a way to normalize the experience. No metaphors in this book, death is definitely the main character.

The illustrations use a washed out almost dull tone, adding to the mellow nature of the book. One thing I found interesting is that all of the scenes are out doors in nature and the people all Caucasian, which doesn't do much to normalize to a wide audience.

I think for certain children, this type of writing style is what is needed. Due to this books popularity on many of the lists out there, it's definitely good to be familiar with it!

 Stay tuned again for more books coming up...

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"I came to learn what is means as a poet to be the person who can sit with those profound, profound, essential human experiences, and to let them happen, and to not fight them, and learn from them.   

I never would have thought before that it was a privilege for someone to let you be intimate with them as they move towards dying.   

But it was.  And I think I understood that because I was having and raising these little babies." 

Neonatology 

"[...] birth is like jazz,

from silence and blood, silence
then everything,  
jazz."

and then Autumn Passage. 

"On suffering, which is real.

On the mouth that never closes,
the air that dries the mouth.
On the miraculous dying body,   
its greens and purples. [...]" 

Crave Radiance: New and Selected Poems 1990-2010 Publisher: Graywolf Press Date: 2010 Language: English Available at: amazon.com graywolfpress.org

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If you look at any bibliography of childhood grief books, it is likely to be quiet extensive! Take for instance the bibliography on the Child Grief Education Association website, here.  The good news is that there is no shortage of literature available.

My question is, though, with so many choices- which ones are the best? This answer probably has much to do with the child's age, the questions they are asking and simply the child's personal preferences in books.  A simple title of a book won't give any insight into the intricacies of the book, thus we must rely on word of mouth or websites such as BarrHarris.org,  Childlife.org or the many other hundreds of grief websites that give a synopsis of the books. But even this doesn't give a clear understanding of what the book is like.


The best option, would be to read them all ourselves. While a lofty goal that I have not yet achieved, this week I did the best I could; I went to my local library in rural America and checked out all the books I could find on childhood grief.  Hopefully the reviews of these books, with illustrations and story plot will give you a more thorough idea of some of the children's books out there.

For this first post I have chosen a book that has great appeal for adults as well as children. I would consider it a "cross-over" book, and may in fact be more of an adult book disguised as a children's book.

Tear Soup is written by Pat Schwiebert and Chuck Deklyen, Illustrated by Taylor Bills.  Published as a 3rd Rev. edition by Grief Watch in 2005, the age level listed for reading is age 4-8.

The main character is Grandy, who has suffered a 'great loss'. She spends the pages working on her tear soup, which serves as a marvelous symbol of grief.  The universal statements packed into the book are so subtle, sometimes it takes a moment to recognize them.  For example, "It seems that grief is never clean... To make matters worse, grief always takes longer to cook than anyone wants it to"

She deals with adding memories to the pot and even the profound concept of the time that memories seem to run out, and the emptiness felt then. There are interactions with neighbors and friends, as Grandy says, "They filled the air with words, but none of their words took the smell of tear soup away." Or when she comments that, "most people can tolerate only a cup of someone else's tear soup."

The book also approaches faith issues, as Grandy "demanded to know where God was when she was feeling so all alone."

As one might guess, Grandy works through her grief until she realizes it's time to eat something else instead of only tear soup.  The book ends with a nice summary of Grandy's journey, "I've learned that grief, like a pot of soup, changes the longer it simmers and the more things you put into it. I've learned that sometimes people say unkind things, but they really don't mean to hurt you...and most importantly, I've learned that there is something down deep within all of us ready to help us survive the things we think we can't survive."

This book has wonderful illustrations and while I am not sure a pre-school child would understand the significance of all the metaphors, it would certainly provide a starting point for topic discussions. It may also serve as a great recommendation for a family with an adult who has been resistant to dealing with their own grief... by innocently entering into the realm of a kid's book, they may be surprised to have issues raised within themselves.

Stay tuned over the next weeks for more reviews of children's literature and feel free to leave your own favorite children's books about grief in the comment section below.

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I must admit that Bedrich Smetana (1824-1884) is not one of those composers I go around mentioning or hear brought up in conversation much. In fact, the name didn't even sound familiar when I first started researching this piece. However, his 'Piano Trio in G minor" is familiar, and the story of it's inception is worthy of a post for this blog.

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I know Christian has mentioned before having ah-ha moments when listening to songs and finally really "hearing" the lyrics. This happened to me this week as I had the children's music writer/singer Justin Roberts on. On one of the slower songs on his album "Meltdown" (2006) I suddenly heard words that I realized were talking about dying.

Justin Roberts -web- -Facebook- -Twitter @MusicianJustin- -YouTube-

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