The Club By: Karen Grover In August 2005, my husband, daughter, and I became members of a very exclusive club. We had been only vaguely aware of its existence, and we thought that surely a chapter in a city the size of ours wouldn't have many members. We had seen a few people who belonged to the club, but we didn't seem to have anything in common with them. Occasionally, we read stories in the newspaper about new members being initiated into the club, but it didn't seem likely that we would ever be eligible to join, so we paid no attention. The price of membership is so dear that we couldn't imagine being part of the club. We must have realized in the backs of our minds that people didn't choose to join and pay the dues-it was done for them somehow. In fact, no one really has any idea how many members are selected. There are a lot of theories; but much of the time, the theories come from non-members who don't understand much about the situation. The" club" we are now in (although it is not an organized group), is known as "bereaved parents". The cost of membership was the life of our daughter; and we, like all other members, have no idea why we were selected for membership. No one wants to be in this club. Even now, months afterward, inside our hearts and minds we continue to fight membership, but there is no resigning from it. It is an automatic lifetime membership. There was no way to avoid it--we did the best we could to keep our daughter safe. For five 1/2 years, we guided her through dangers, fed her well, loved her unconditionally, only to have her die from a RARE brain tumor. Though we lay awake night after night, and think of it day after day, there is no answer as to why we have been thrust into this select group. We hate it and we cry out in protest, but there is no way to change it. We have learned a lot since our membership began. We now understand much about other members. In fact, we seek to be with them, to have regular get-togethers, to discuss our membership, and to try to understand its value. Sometimes, those outside the club are afraid of us, fearing that if they come near us or talk with us, they will be selected to become members too! Acquaintances often try to ignore the membership, pretending that it doesn't exist. They seem to think that will make things easier, and then the member's won't feel "different", but really it only makes things worse. So many times, I have wanted someone to say hello or to tell me she has been thinking of me or to mention something about the absent child who still lives inside me and overshadows all my thoughts. I have heard people say,"I don't want to upset her, or remind her of her daughter, or say something that will make her cry". I want to tell them:" The only way you can make me feel worse than I already do is to pretend that she doesn't exist or that it isn't as deep and painful as you surely know it is. Have you ever experienced the feeling of having one terrible incident go through your mind, day after day, week after week, month after month, wondering why it happened and how you could have prevented it? Well, don't worry about reminding me of my daughter. I am thinking about her nearly 24 hours a day. "Sure, sometimes my mind is temporarily distracted--it would have to be to function at all. But if you think there is even one day that goes by without my child's death tearing up my heart, then you have no idea what this club is about." I appreciate your talking about my child, or at least letting me talk about her. She was a very large part of my life, and ignoring her now will really hurt me. It makes me think that you feel she's no longer important because she's gone. It hurts to think that people don't want to think about her or remember good things about her, just because she died. "I understand that you don't want to say anything that will make me cry--sometimes I just don't know, myself. Some days I stay dry eyed through nearly everything. Other days, the slightest thing will start the tears-things you could not possibly imagine or anticipate. Not all the tears are tears of sorrow. Even in the midst of anguish, I sometimes cry tears of joy and relief because you have reached out; because you have confirmed that my daughter was special; perhaps because you have shared with me some precious memory about her which I had not known before. Please don't run away from me. Don't pretend her death never occurred, or even worse, that she never lived! I still love her, think of her, you need to remember. Please share with me and we will both feel better. "I am learning that God is not punishing me. He did not cause the death of my daughter. But, He can help me grow through this experience--to become stronger and wiser and more caring, if I have some help. Initially, when I was told by a church member that I would change and grow stronger through this experience, I wanted to scream that if it meant giving up my daughter, I didn't want to change or get stronger. But I know I have no choice about that now--she is gone. Now my choices are either let God, and friends, help me; or I can choose to allow this grief to destroy me." I have to experience the grief. I can't pretend it doesn't hurt, or hurry it along. That's what membership in this club is teaching me. I am choosing to allow God to take an unspeakable experience and use it to start life again.