“Grief’s river is a process of relinquishing the past. By swimming in hope’s channels, I’ll reach the shore at last.” From the poem, “Grief Is Like A River” by Cinthia G. Kelley
There is No Timeline in Grief
As a Grief Educator and Counselor, we often remind everyone that there is no set timetable for grief as each person grieves at their own pace and on their own timeline. Grief is super personal defining in many ways the relationship you had with your loved one or the one you had hoped to build throughout your lifetime. One of the most powerful experiences that I have had in running a bereavement ministry is the human connections that unfold in real time. People in our group, many of whom have never met each other before, share with one another their own personal grief journey and all the emotions and challenges that surface with the loss of their loved ones. The sharing is always done in a safe place, one with no judgement where my fellow bereaved bear witness to each other’s grief story helping to validate the pain that each of us carries . Over the course of our Program, people begin to see that they are not alone in their grief, that in fact they are walking a path that no one in this life can escape. With lots of love and support, we learn how to move gracefully through those various stages of denial, anger, bargaining, sadness, and the hoped-for acceptance that can be especially difficult to attain.
A couple of weeks ago, my own grief journey with loss took a powerful turn as I finally had the courage to do something I had always wanted to do and stand on the sacred ground where my older brother and best friend Dennis had died so suddenly and unexpectedly almost 52 years ago. Dennis was only 19 years old at the time, the picture of perfect health who was finishing up his sophomore year at Saint Joseph’s University in Philadelphia, Pa. I’ve written many blog posts on my journey of grieving his untimely death, everything from the suddenness of his passing with no discernible cause found in the autopsy report as well as the emotional toll it took on my parents and my 4 other siblings. Moreover, the cultural environment back then didn’t allow the time and space for a bereaved family to really understand the internal process of grief and all the challenges that define that journey. I’ve talked about all the God questions that came up for me and the intense anger that surfaced with questions like why Dennis and not me or someone else; all the regrets and the what if’s and if only’s that can often come with loss; and the deep sadness of a life I had always envisioned for the two of us sharing our careers, our families, and growing old together as brothers often dream of doing.
The Pain that Surfaces When Someone You Love Dies Alone
I have come a long way in my journey of grief with Dennis, but one aspect of my healing had always held me back, delaying closure and full acceptance of his death and something I became more acutely aware of while walking the Camino de France in September of 2021, the best investment I ever made in my spiritual life. During the challenging days of walking through the Spanish meseta, I thought about how lucky I was to be able to hold both my Dad’s and Mom’s hand when God called them home. To know that I was there with them in those final moments of their life has been one of the most beautiful graces God has ever given me because I was able to tell both parents how much I loved them and that I would be forever grateful for all of the love and support they had given me. But none of us – not any member of my family nor Denny’s two closest friends at St. Joe’s — Bob and Pat — were able to be with him and hold his hand in his final moments of life. That thought of people dying alone has always haunted me and it’s something that I tried to suppress for many years, an issue that took on added importance for many people during the global pandemic who could not be with their loved ones and say goodbye to them in the way we had always done before Covid, a factor that has delayed, complicated, and prolonged the grief journey for so many bereaved families these past few years. I had made one earlier attempt to visit that sacred ground where Denny had died back on April 20th, 2012, the 40th anniversary of his passing. But as I approached the University grounds that day, I quickly broke down so I turned the car around and headed back home to NJ where I live. I still wasn’t ready to face that moment that has haunted me for so many years.
God works in mysterious ways as they say and over the past several months I felt that the time had finally come for me to confront my fear and see that sacred ground where Dennis had passed. So I began to plan for my trip to Saint Joseph’s University campus a few weeks ago but quickly realized that the actual building where Dennis had collapsed and died that day — the First Pennsylvania Bank and Trust on the corner of City Avenue and N54th Street — had been replaced back in 1998 with the unveiling of Mandeville Hall and the all new Erivan Haub School of Business, one of the most beautiful buildings that adorn the campus. And with the help of Lesley Carey, the Archivist at Saint Joseph’s Library, we were able to confirm the exact location of the bank back in April 1972 which is where the photo was taken of me holding flowers and a picture of Dennis that graces the cover of this blogpost . Although we could not find any clear photos of the bank building by itself, we did find an aerial shot that was taken in 1972 of the corner of City Ave and N54th Street with the bank building located in the upper left hand corner of the photo as indicated by the blue arrow.
A Special Moment of Healing and Closure at the Corner of City Avenue and N54th Street
As I settled into the place where Dennis had spent his last moments of life, I began to pray and shared with him my struggles over the years in accepting his death and the regret I had long carried that no one close to him was able to be with him in those final moments. I tried to imagine what that morning must have been like for him as he walked over to the bank just a few short blocks from Lawlor Hall where he and his roommates had lived to cash that $15 check my parents had sent him for the final two weeks of his spring semester. I tried to feel the deep emotion of the moment when Dennis collapsed on to the floor of the bank building after cashing the check, what the others in the bank that morning must have felt, and for that very kind doctor who had also been waiting in line and immediately called an ambulance. I thought about what it must have felt like to Bob, one of Dennis’s best friends, who was in a nearby classroom that day and who told me years later that he could still hear the sound of the onrushing ambulance getting closer and closer as he looked out the window to City Avenue, never for a minute thinking that it was coming for someone he knew. I thought of how challenging it must have been for all of Dennis’s fellow classmates at the other residence halls to learn later that day that their friend had passed away all too soon. Younger people back then were dying in the war in Vietnam, some would die tragically in a car accident or from cancer but no one it seemed had ever died so unexpectedly without warning or any legitimate reason until that fateful day.
But as I continued to pray on this sacred ground and imagined what that day must have been like for Dennis and all those affected by his untimely passing, I began to feel an inner calm that I hadn’t ever felt before. Denny’s loss has had a profound impact on me throughout my life but I had now arrived at a place that grief expert David Kessler calls the sixth stage of grief, that stage where you find meaning in your loss and and a clear view of how to honor the memory of your loved one. As I looked around from that sacred place where Dennis had died, I had finally realized that healing and the full acceptance of his loss doesn’t mean that Denny never lived or that his passing all those years ago never occurred but rather that his loss no longer controls me the way that it had for so many years. As I knelt on that very spot where Dennis took his last breath 52 years ago in the lobby of the First Pennsylvania Bank and Trust, I realized I had come full circle in my journey of grieving his loss. I had evolved from an angry, confused, and depressed 17 year old teenager to an older man who felt he had healed from that awful wound earlier in my life. That Dennis’s sudden and unexpected passing — which will never be ok for me or anyone else who knew him and loved him — had actually given me new life and meaning by being able to walk with others in grief and offer support to those who are experiencing the worst moments in their own lives.
As I began to gather my things and walked back to my car for the drive back to NJ, I knew in my heart that my 17 year old younger self could never have imagined being able to come to that sacred ground at 2490 N54th Street in Philadelphia on a sunny cold morning in February of 2024, to be able to feel his older brother’s presence like I had never experienced before, and to know in my heart that a part of Dennis and the love he gave to me will always be a part of who I am. What a blessing it is to share his story and my grief journey with others who are also grieving a loss. To paraphrase that beautiful poem “Grief Is Like a River” , I think I have finally reached “the shore at last” in my journey of grief. Thanks Dennis for encouraging me to swim in hope’s channels and to know that we will always be My Brothers Keeper to each other. Love always, Jackie
Wishing my fellow bereaved, coaches, clients, colleagues, and friends, the gift of God’s abundant grace and love, Dr. K
