Tom Kunst was known to all as a friend, but to a treasured few; beloved husband, father and Papa. Tom died tragically while doing something he loved, training on his bicycle. Over the years, Tom became an avid competitor. Competition soon became a family affair, often including his wife and sons. Tom loved being with his family, pushing himself physically and being out in God’s creation.
Lately we find ourselves in spaces that feel upended and abnormal. Nothing feels routine or familiar. We have adapted, adjusted and let go of things that seem an impossibility. But where does that leave grief? Where does that leave this family who tragically loses its patriarch?
In the last weeks we have listened to families express “its not our fault that mom died during a national crisis”. They want to gather for support with their family and friends. They want to have an event that marks the significance of a life. They want to be able to share their grief with others…. But social distancing changes our traditions. We face this frustration with families as we try to balance the basic needs for mourning and the present reality of social distancing. We can work with you to find options that meet your immediate needs with the limits of our current situation.
Sure, we love a good BBQ and picnic to kick off the summer as much as anyone else, but in our work we’ve been deeply affected by the stories of the veterans in our community. We’re proud and humbled to host this annual Community Memorial Picnic in their collective honor, and we love seeing generations come together to share stories and recognize those among us who served our country so faithfully.
Every year we'll purchase an ornament for our grief tree for people that we lost who are important to us. As we add new ornaments to our grief tree, we'll have a tangible way to see how many years we'll live through this grief. Grief is part of who we are and what we own now, and that grief tree is a symbolic of who we are now.
This, and 4 other ways to include remembering loved ones as part of your Christmas traditions.
“We were here at Grand Coney since 2004, the first week they opened. We’ve been here a long time. When they opened it was something new so we decided to try it, and we’ve been here pretty much ever since,” recounts Dale. They spent the last of their 10,000 breakfasts tradition together here.
Every time Henry Tjoelker walked through the doors of Third Reformed Church his pockets were full of peppermints. And not just any peppermints—skip the Altoids and Certs—Henry was a proud Dutchman and therefore, a peppermint purist. His go-to brands—Wilhelmina and King—hailed from his native country of the Netherlands. It was no surprise, then, to the family and friends gathered for Henry's memorial service on Monday, that there were bags of the mint candies waiting for them in every pew.
What's with all the clocks, the model boats and the recumbent bike in the room? Did Heritage Life Story Funeral Home open its own hobby shop? Nope. Those items belonged to Tom Mathews—tinkerer extraordinaire.
"This is great," exclaimed Chad Russ while gathering with friends and family before his grandfather Tom's memorial service on Saturday. "Look at all of his stuff here."
Richard Hoonhorst loved to tell jokes. If you didn't catch the punchline the first time around (or even if you did), he'd enthusiastically tell it again...and again...and again. Just ask his friends at Sandy's Donuts on Grand Rapids' West Side—the place where Richard spent countless mornings drinking his coffee, enjoying a donut and cracking jokes. Most of them will groan, laugh and share their favorite of his one-liners by memory. That's what happens when you hear something for the second, fifth, tenth, hundredth time.
Every year we'll purchase an ornament for our grief tree for people that we lost who are important to us. As we add new ornaments to our grief tree, we'll have a tangible way to see how many years we'll live through this grief. Grief is part of who we are and what we own now, and that grief tree is a symbolic of who we are now.
This, and 4 other ways to include remembering loved ones as part of your Christmas traditions.
“Merry Christmas!” “Happy New Year!”
Wherever you turn at this time of year, you encounter words of good cheer and reminders to celebrate the joy of the Christmas season. But those who are facing the first Christmas season following the loss of someone special in their lives may be wondering how they are going to simply survive the holidays, let alone find joy in them. So we asked several people we've served who all have experienced first holidays following a loss what advice they would give to those facing their own first Christmas. In their own words ...
"This year I did not do Art Prize. I did a tombstone instead. It was good that I was doing something with my hands that was for Marie. I was making something and it was coming out. I never got discouraged -- sometimes I get discouraged with work that I am doing. But not this time. It was my grief coming out."
“When someone’s that old you expect that death is coming someday, and you kind of dread it. It’s always there in the back of your mind. I was always trying to prepare myself that it would happen. It wasn’t tragic. But it was just such a shock,” explains Wendy. “A loss is a loss. You expect it but you don’t.”
In years past, Lisa would include pictures and links on Facebook to her Art Prize entries and talk excitedly with students and family and friends about it. But this year, she didn’t take pictures of it or make cards and when people asked what she was working on for Art Prize, all she said was that it was a tribute to her mom. “I couldn’t share it. Part of it was that it was evolving. And part of it was that I was grieving while working on it.”
They all have different needs. And meeting them all, while grieving myself, was hard sometimes. It was hard to be strong enough for me, let alone for them. But I was their mom and it was important to me to be there for them because they’re my kids and I hurt so deeply for them. I would have done anything to shield them from that loss, but since I couldn’t do that, I did the best I could to support them.
I realized early on that people grieve very differently. One woman at a group said I grieved hard for two months but then I was done. For me, I was still struggling four years later with trying to let go and move on with my life. Everybody’s different. That group helped me feel normal, though, and that what I was experiencing was normal.
Everyone has their own normal and nothing is right or wrong. Grief is a personal thing. Some people clear out the closet the next week and are done; others hold onto things for years and years and years. Everyone’s different and everyone needs to figure out what is best for them. Letting yourself grieve is healthy and necessary and that looks different for everyone.
