memorial fund

I had planned to stick to theme weeks Monday - Friday for the month of November, and keep weekends spontaneous and lighthearted.  I learned some things about myself this past week, though, and I've got one more topic on the remembrance week subject for today.

I have a lot more to say about remembrance and memories than I ever realized.  So this will not be the end of my discussion of that topic.  Today I have one more thing to discuss, and then I will set it aside for now and revisit it after I have some time to think and process and regroup.

A great way to honor and remember someone is to find something that meant a lot to that person and support that thing, whatever it may be.  It could be embracing a particular activity or hobby loved by that person.  It could be funding research for a cure for a disease or supporting any cause or issue that affected or mattered to the person.  It can be any number of ways to continue a legacy, limited only by imagination and creativity. 

In my brother's case, he was an outdoorsy guy.  He loved hiking, backpacking, camping, kayaking, skiing.  He even dabbled in rock climbing and loved it.  He was a member of the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) and he had big plans to hike the entire Appalachian Trail with his girlfriend, Aggie.  She eventually completed this goal, this journey.  They had this important goal set together, and she accepted the challenge and she hiked from Georgia to Maine for herself and for him.

My parents, Mike and I chose to honor Greg's memory through his love of the outdoors and for the AMC.  We asked family and friends to contribute to The Harry Duren Memorial Fund, through the AMC CT Chapter, which provides scholarships for teenagers to attend wilderness camps and programs.  The response was great, and we continue to support that fund and its goals. 

The CT AMC took notice of the support, and talked to my family about my brother.  They honored his memory with a tribute article to him in their Summer 2008 newsletter, which I shared here. 

Recently they acknowledged my family's continued support and approved a renaming of the fund.  The following is an excerpt taken from the CT AMC's most recent newsletter:

The Harry Duren and Gregory Simons
Memorial Fund
Donations to the Harry Duren Memorial Fund provide scholarships
to send one or two Connecticut teenagers to AMC’s Summer
Wilderness Adventures in the White Mountains. Over the last few
years the Simons family has made significant contributions to this
fund in memory of Gregory Simons, a young man whose life was
tragically lost several years ago. In recognition of their generosity,
and in remembrance of Greg, the CT-AMC Executive Committee
has approved a name change of this fund to: The Harry Duren
and Gregory Simons Memorial Fund.
The fund is a wonderful tribute to a lost friend or family
member who loved the outdoors. Each of the teenagers who
attend say that their Summer Wilderness Adventure was a
life-changing experience and is one which helps to produce a
future generation of stewards of the outdoors.
I hope you will consider supporting this fund; after all what
better gift can we leave?
Contributions can be sent to: Harry Duren / Greg Simons
Fund, c/o Eric Stones, 72 Sunset Hill Road, Bethel CT 06801.

This is so special to me.  It touches my heart to have Greg's memory preserved and honored through helping teenagers connect with nature.  Please click here for the full Autumn 2010 AMC in Connecticut newsletter, which includes a couple of letters from kids participated in the AMC's wilderness programs, as well as contact information for donating to the fund (on page 4).  My brother would have loved to know he is helping these kids. The importance of connecting with nature meant so much to Greg.  Continuing his legacy this way allows his memory to live on and to help others. 

letting greg's memory shine through to others

I said yesterday that I haven't found an answer to the question of what to do with the memories.  Not having a good handle on that answer makes it hard to communicate who Greg was to others, including those who never knew him and those who knew him briefly or not very well. 

When we moved from the Philadelphia suburbs to Manhattan five months after Greg died, I was very panicky about meeting new people.  I did not want to know anybody who did not know my brother.  This crippled me for more than a year after moving here, until I started to figure out how to express myself regarding my brother to new friends.  It turns out, for me, the best way is to work it into normal conversation the way you would stories of any sibling.  I tell stories of Greg when they intertwine with stories of childhood, brothers, siblings, growing up, etc.  The biggest hurdles are initial telling of his death, followed by the how.  If you think people shy away and clam up when you tell them your little brother is dead, try telling them he died of a heroin overdose.  Telling this to almost anyone brings conversation to a screeching halt and, often, personal conversations never start up again. 

The few friends that have made it past this hurdle and become close know my brother.  They know him through pictures and stories and through seeing the person I am when I talk about him.  I am guarded, still, and keep a lot close to my heart.  Too much, probably.  But it helps.  The fear I faced in showing new friends glimpses of my story, his story, our story, has played a vital role in my healing process. 

I need to share more and I need to open my heart to allow dormant memories to come to the surface.  These small steps, though, the tiny rare moments of showing my raw self to someone who has offered me friendship and support, they are everything.

I haven't addressed my parents' role in the grieving and healing process this week, by my own choosing, because that is another thing I keep private.  I don't want to lay out their personal journeys or speak for them here.  I have asked my mom for permission to share one thing today, though, which relates directly to what I've just described. 

My mom had a group of good friends in high school.  Real friends, treasured friends.  They lost touch years ago.  Long before Greg and I were even born, let alone Greg's death.  Through the wonders of Facebook, she found them again last spring and the friendships have opened up again.  She even went with her sister Jeanne to gather with a few of their friends in person a few months ago, and they laughed and bonded and behaved like schoolgirls again.  It has been wonderful for her, at least in my humble opinion.

But she has had to face the discussions of Greg's life and death.  The friends keep in touch through Facebook messaging, and her inbox is always full with her former classmates' updates and catching up.  A friend recently mentioned her daughter's battle with and victory over addiction. 

This puts her in a position I have been in many times.  The position of being both genuinely happy for this person and simultaneously angry and hurt for yourself.  You want to respond appropriately, without diminishing your own experiences or theirs. 

Eventually, she responded with this:    "When my son, Gregory, died from an overdose of heroin, I wondered why God did not answer my constant prayers to keep him safe and sound. Then I realized that God is keeping him safe and sound."

finding an outlet for the memories

We discussed what to do with the stuff, and that part was easy.  The stuff can be controlled, sorted and compartmentalized, giving you a sense of conquering your feelings.  But the real, intangible emotions, feelings and memories are slippery and complicated; figuring out what to do with these is much harder.  I really don't have the answers to this one.  I've tried a few things, struggled with some decisions, and ultimately it is still a big tangled jumble in my head.

Immediately after Greg died, I was surrounded 24/7, physically and emotionally, by family.  I have 18 first cousins, every last one of whom dropped everything and showed up for me.  For all of us, of course, but invaluably, forcefully, for me.  I did not have to make any decisions about the memories because they flooded forth from my cousins, surrounding me with love and memories and, believe it or not, laughter.  They kept me going and without them, I do not know what would have happened to me that week. 

Let me just pause one moment here to say that I do not devalue the amazing solid rock that Mike was for me and for my parents and family, as well as the support of my aunts & uncles and friends.  It was all key in getting me through.

I make no secret, though, of the fact that my cousins saved my life that week, kept me grounded, allowed me to cry and scream and yell and talk and laugh and weep.  Some of them, particularly, shared almost every moment with me that week, and because of them, the good, happy memories shone through the pain, starting even from right after Greg died. 

Later that year, I tried writing in a journal.  I carried it around with me and when a memory hit me that I wanted to hold on to, I wrote it in the journal.  It was sporadic and unnatural, though.  It didn't feel right or comfortable.  I kept on with it for a few months, but eventually gave up and I'm sure it's still around here somewhere but I don't even know where it is right now. 

As I waded through the grief process and tried to sort out the right place for the memories, I felt a lack of focus, a lack of support, a lack of outlets and people who understood; I have discussed this before.  Though I know there was so much love for me, I often felt isolated in my grief.  I struggled with the decision of whether to seek out a grief group or a therapist.  I soon abandoned the idea of a grief support group, because I had support.  I had people holding me up.  What I didn't have was someone who understood my situation and my kind of loss.  Someone to truly understand what it means to be not an only child. 

I eventually abandoned the idea of seeing a therapist, too, and I'm still not entirely sure that was the right decision, but it's the decision I made.  Around the time I abandoned that idea, I started this website.  It has served, in its own way, as a healing therapy for me.  It has done wonders for me and I really enjoy spending time here.  Like the journal, though, I don't find it a comfortable place to share and store memories most of the time.

And so the memories float around, without a specific outlet or landing pad.  When something triggers a memory of Greg, it is usually just a wispy, foggy thing, sometimes even just a feeling or emotion or sense of deja vu without a concrete memory.  These types of memories are very personal for me.  It is rare that I share them; they are mine.  I usually share memories and experiences relating to my brother only when they fit naturally into conversation.  

I make an effort to chat to Emmett about his Uncle Greg, but it is definitely an effort.  When one of those fleeting memories is triggered while Emmett and I are home, I try to drag it out into consciousness and talk to him about it.  It is very difficult, but also feels a bit therapeutic to me, and I want it to become more natural to talk out loud to Emmett about Greg.  It is important to me that Emmett knows his uncle through stories and pictures.  It is a step in the right direction for me, I think.

memorial objects

Yesterday, I mentioned that I categorize remembering my brother Greg into stuff and memories.  Those two things are not mutually exclusive, as the stuff is intertwined with the memories, but they are two separate issues for me.  So I started with the stuff.  I didn't really discuss that initial need to go through and sort and deal with the stuff right after a death -- that is a separate thing entirely and usually waded through by a survival instinct. 

I am focusing more on the stuff you save- how to use it, store it or display it to help yourself remember and to grow and heal.  I have a couple of items made by Christine, a family friend, using items belonging to Greg. They are some of my most favorite things.  They were made for me, and I can use them for my own purposes, but they are made from his things and provide the prompts to keep Greg alive in my heart.

The first is a bracelet, made using three beads from Greg's necklace.  Christine added pretty beads and created something lovely I can wear when I have a tough day or when I need to feel close to Greg. 

 

The second is a bag, also made by Christine.  It's an all-purpose bag, perfect for carrying laptop and lunch back and forth to work (when I used to do such things), toting books to the library,carrying a few diapers, change of clothes and a snack.  I actually use it as a purse on and off, and am doing so right now.  It makes me happy.  The painting and the choice of fabrics are beautiful, original, and done for me.  But Greg's things are there too.  Two more beads from the necklace are attached to the front of the bag, just below the straps.  The inner denim lining of the straps, the denim on the bottom of the bag, and the denim pocket inside the bag are from a pair of Greg's jeans. 

 

Lastly, I want to mention one other treasured memory object we have.  This one is in memory of our nephew Noah, who died five years ago at 11 months old.  His parents, Andi & Mike, had this memory bear made for us by Joe's Memory Bears.  It is made from a blanket of Noah's, and we keep it on a shelf in Emmett's room, where we can tell him stories about his cousin and eventually share with him the meaning of the bear and the memories of Noah. 

Dedicating specific objects as memorial things helps me deal with the stuff.  I do still struggle with it, and there are a few things of Greg's, or things that remind me of Greg, that float around my house from place to place with no real home, but I'm not willing to get rid of them.  The number of things like this seems to dwindle slightly over the years, but having special things and a special place for some of his things is reassuring.

Do you have any dedicated memorial objects?  How do you use stuff to keep memories alive?

how do you handle the stuff?

Setting aside the grief and the sadness and the loss itself, there are basically two categories of things that need to be dealt with: the stuff and the memories. 

It is obviously much more complicated than that, but I've never seen it broken down and discussed this way, and it's something that makes a lot of sense to me.  Today and tomorrow we're going to talk about what to do with the stuff.  Thursday and Friday we'll talk about what to do with the memories.  This is all very personal, and may not make sense for everyone, but no single answer or point of view will make sense for everyone.

Dealing with the stuff belonging to Greg is something I had to face, and something I still face, but in a much smaller way than my parents did.  He lived in their house and they had to deal with all of his day to day things, as well as everything he'd collected, saved, worn and used over the years.  So my experience is not the same as theirs, is not the same as yours, is not the same as anyone's. 

In my house, I had a few notes and cards he wrote to me, pictures, a couple of books of his, gifts he had given me, and that's about it.  But as my parents went through their own struggle with his stuff, they gave me some things, and I asked for some things. 

It is very hard to find the right balance.  If you keep too much stuff, you face an inability to move forward, and can get stuck in the past without enough room to grow and heal.  If you don't keep enough stuff, it can create a raw hole where everything slips away too fast and it feels like one of those falling dreams, the one where you fall and fall and fall and never land. 

As of right now, I have some pictures around, I have a few of Greg's favorite books on my bookshelves, I have a note he wrote to me on my fridge.  I have a box of various mementos on the shelf in my closet, where I can go look at it anytime I want, but I don't have to encounter it daily.  I also have a couple of dedicated memorial objects, which are among my most prized possessions.  I'll show them to you tomorrow. 

remembrance week

Today marks the beginning of National Blog Posting Month, as well as a new beginning for this website.  I am committed to publishing here every day for the month of November, in an effort to find my voice again.  In order to try and motivate myself and stay organized, I've decided to structure each week of November with a theme.  This week, November 1-5, is Remembrance Week.  I've chosen to start with Remembrance Week because it's the reason I started this blog in the first place.  To figure out how to remember and how to share and how to still be me after my brother died.  It was never just about remembering or about my brother, but it was always about who I have become after his death and how it has reshaped me and how I am forever changed but also still the same.

The passing of time has not changed that.  I am still the same but I will also never be the same.  It is a direct contradiction and yet is is the truth.  Four years, 7 months after his death and I have done a lot of healing and growing but sometimes the harsh reality of Greg's death still cripples me mentally and physically.  Unremarkable things catch me, bring back a memory or remind me of how close siblings can be - of how close we were - and I'm frozen.  I can't think, can't move, can barely breathe.  Can't imagine how I can go on without him.

Those moments are fleeting, now.

I recover more easily from them, drag myself out of the quicksand and center myself back into life.

But they do happen.  And I think they always will.

There are tricks to deal with these feelings and continue on.  I use them consciously and unconsciously.  Sometimes I voice them and sometimes I keep them close to my heart.  They are things that remind me of how much love and friendship I shared with my brother.  Things that remind me of how much love surrounded us as he dealt with his addiction and as he eventually lost that battle.  Things that remind me of what he would have wanted for me and ways that I can honor his memory.

I use these tricks and stories and memories, and sometimes physical things, to keep Greg's memory alive, to go on with my life and be happy, but also to remember.  To grow and change and live, and to be different and changed and forever altered but also the same.