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July Meetings The Wake County Chapter meets every second and fourth Tuesday of the month at Hayes Barton Baptist Church, 1800 Glenwood Avenue, at the corner of Glenwood Avenue and Whitaker Mill Road at Five Points in Raleigh. Enter from Whitaker Mill Road into Main Entrance of the Family Life Center which is attached to and behind the church. Ask direc-
tions to TCF meeting room at desk just inside the entrance door.
Tuesday, July 9th — The meeting
will start at 7:30 pm.
Tuesday, July 23rd — The meeting
will start at 7:30 pm.
If this is your first Newsletter If you are receiving this newsletter for the
first time, it is because someone has told
us it might be helpful for you. We hope it is.
We also invite you to our monthly meetings
at Hayes Barton Baptist Church. At these
meetings you may talk or choose not to
say a word. There are no fees or dues. We
are sorry you have had to experience the
death of a child (or children) but we are
here for you. We, too, are on this journey
of grief and extend our hearts and arms to
you . . .
Inside this Issue:
Love Gifts Phone & E-Mail List In Robin’s Voice (Book)
2
Another Choice In Memory of Eric Metcalf
3
4th of July Vacations
4
They Don’t Wear Purple Hearts in Heaven
There is a Room
5
Scooping Things Up 6
Concert In Memory of Amanda Wall and Corey Haddon
Scooping Things Up (cont’d)
7
An Open Letter to Grieving Friends 8
Getting Unstuck An Open Letter (cont’d)
9
When is the right time to send a book?
10
Our July Children 11
Volume 8 Issue 7
July 2013
Where else? Where else — can you come into a group of complete strangers and talk
about the death of your child? Where else — can you know that you are not alone in your bereavement? Where else — can others sincerely say to you, “I know how you feel”? Where else — will you not hear, “It’s time you were over it and started get- ting on with your life,” and other unwelcome advise? Where else — can you cry without feeling ashamed or laugh without feeling
guilt? Where else — can you just listen and not talk if you do not wish to? Where else — can you reach out to newly bereaved parents who are experiencing
the grief and pain you have felt? Where else — can you share the love and memories of your children with
others? Where else — NOWHERE BUT AT THE COMPASSIONATE FRIENDS.
Dave Ziv, TCF, Buck Mont Chapter
2
In Robin’s Voice is the third book by author Holly Snow Sillau. Her first book,
Robin’s Wings, is a collection of vignettes coauthored by her daughter. Her second,
Missing Robin, is a series of poems. This project is very different from the other
two. It tells the same story, but the events are presented in quite a clever fashion. To
reveal more of the book’s creativity would spoil the read for those curious about
how a mother experiences the most horrific event imaginable. As with each of
Holly’s books, ALL proceeds go to the Robin Joy Sillau Memorial Research Fund for
Connective Tissue Disease at NYC’s famed Hospital for Special Surgery.
Friends Supporting Friends
Telephone and E-Mail Contact List
Betsy Allen, 18 year old daughter, fire suffocation ..................... [email protected] ............... 919-981-0767 Kati Bourque, 2 day old daughter, diaphragmatic hernia ............. [email protected] ...... 919-637-9544
and 38 yr old brother, heart attack .................. [email protected] ...... 919-637-9544 Kathleen Breland, 17 year old son, suicide ................................ [email protected] ................... 919-463-9409 Mary Lou Clarkson, 21 year old son, leukemia ........................... [email protected] ........................... 919-501-7769 Rebecca Creech, 14 day old daughter, heart defect .................... [email protected] ............. 919-803-5889 Elizabeth Curry, lost 3 sons (auto, drug related & cancer) ........... [email protected] LaTonya Ellis, 18 year old daughter, sickle cell anemia ............... [email protected] ............... 919-706-2348 Mary Chris Griffin, 44 year old son, heart disease ...................... [email protected] .................. 919-552-4440 Diane Haddon, 26 year old daughter, metastatic melanoma ........ [email protected] ..................... 919-363-9721 Nan Hamilton, 5 year old daughter, accident ............................. ................................................... 919-605-5557 Becky Hart, 16 year old son, auto accident ............................... [email protected] Denise Johnson, 18 year old daughter, suicide .......................... [email protected] ........... 919-815-5501 Cathy Joostema, 28 year old son, stroke .................................. [email protected] ................. 919-556-8386
Christi (Cathy’s daughter) 28 year old brother, stroke ........... [email protected] ........ 919-880-8135 Mara Lewis, 15 year old son, osteosarcoma............................... [email protected] ..................... 919-655-5659 Cindy McLeod, 23 year old son, blunt force trauma .................... [email protected] ............... 330-926-7771 Sue Mellott, 21 year old son, suicide ........................................ [email protected] ................... Faira Pearce, 3.5 month old son, pneumonia ............................. [email protected] ................... 919-427-7169 Ora Riggs, 30 year old son, primary brain tumor ....................... [email protected] ..................... 919-274-2769 Ron & Cindy Salyer, 21 year old son, motorcycle accident ........... [email protected] ................... 919-868-7542 Amber Silvers, stillborn daughter ............................................. [email protected]................. 919-400-3077 Nancy Turlington, 19 year old son, car accident ......................... [email protected] ................. 919-553-4995
Sandra Acai and Avery Joyce In loving memory of our daughter and sister Stephanie Acai
Maria, Anthony and Matthew Luster In loving memory of our son and brother Alexander “Lex” Luster
Thomas, Roslynn and Gavin Martin In loving memory of our son and brother Sean Martin
David and Nancy Turlington In loving memory of our son Charles “Chuck” Turlington II
If you need a friend to talk with, below is a list of volunteers:
I N M E M O R Y July LOVE GIFTS – gifts given in loving memory:
[To each of you, please accept our thanks and gratitude.]
3
Another Choice
"I don't know how you do it, I couldn't have done the same."
These sometimes are the words I hear As I say my daughter's name.
"I had no other choices," Is often my reply;
I must learn to live without her, Or shrivel up and die.
It's way down on the inside, Where one can never see,
Way deep within, Is the missing part of me.
It's when you do not see me That I cry my silent tear,
Or feel the empty hurt inside, Because she is not here.
I would choose it to be different, I would choose to feel no pain, I would choose to only smile, As I say my daughter's name.
So if you wonder how I do it, I will quietly raise my voice,
I wouldn't have done it this way If I'd had another choice.
LeAnn Olson TCF Coquille, OR
My beloved son, my youngest child, my baby boy, Eric Thomas Metcalf, fell to his death one year ago at age 19 at Hanging Rock State Park on a hot summer evening after trekking among the peaks and valleys that he loved with his friends nearby and his mom back home, not knowing ... never thinking ... and then, not believing. No, no, no, no, no. How can it be?
This is how it happens. One moment you were here—laughing, talk-ing, breathing. And the next you were gone. Forever. And there was-n't even a shape left in the world where you'd been, neither the trace of a smile or the whisper of a word. Just nothing. I remember you. We all do. Many remember you as Mike Creed did when he penned this poem, which captures your essence, your passion and your uncom-promising spirit.
In Memory of
The Climber
With eyes as blue as the burning sky Ablaze with the challenge above With a reckless grin of devil-may-care He focused all senses aloft
He took his first grip on the jagged face And wedged his toe in the crack Pulled himself aloft with ease While never looking back
For here's a young man of the mountain One with the face of the rock Alive with adventures beginning And never a sheep in the flock
Bold were his moves up the granite Ascending with effortless grace His muscles, taut with the effort His grin, relaxed on his face
For he was alive with the mountain One with the face of the rock Alive with adventures beginning And never a sheep in the flock
And he climbed up, ever higher Where the eagles fear to fly The summit fell before him And ahead was just the sky
So he cast his eyes aloft again At clouds and sky above him Ascending now another face His earthly coil, below him
For he was alive with the mountain Alive with adventures untrod Ablaze with the hunger of genius Ascending the Face of his God —
It rained today, and all the world seemed sad,
while angels wept with tears of empathy.
And all I thought about was you, my son ... Remembering when
You ran home through the rain with dripping hair
and raindrops on your nose, glistening like my tears this rainy day.
~ Lily de Lauder, N Hollywood CA ~ Written by Mike Creed (Eric’s best friend’s father who took Eric
under his loving wing as a mentor, neighbor and guide.)
4
4th OF JULY As our country celebrates Independence Day we are reminded of a nation which stood
through many a crisis, which refused to give up or in, and today stands tall and strong because of her convictions.
As Americans, we know the truth in the motto — "No gain without pain". Those of us who are not newly bereaved know that this motto also applies to our suffering, for many of us have found a deeper appreciation of life through our tragic experience. Priorities have also been rearranged for we have learned what things are most important.
It did not come easy, my friend, but with the courage and determination that being an American has taught us. So, my newly bereaved friends, stand tall and do not give up.
You can claim YOUR "Independence" from grief, too.
Camden County Chapter TCF, Audubon, NJ Newsletter
VACATIONS There is not a lot written about vacation time even though this can be a difficult time. I remember so well the first July vacation we took after Ruthie's death in April. I could not face going and "leaving her" and go-ing to all the places we had been in the past with her. This is one of the “firsts” — here are some hints that may help if you are dreading vacation time. By the way, there is never a time that you don't think of vaca-tions past but the memories get less painful and you begin to forge new memories.
Just remember that bereaved families and people need a respite from the daily stress of work and of life and grief. Also know that often the anticipation is worse than the actual event. If you have been through Christmas, a birthday or death anniversary, etc, you may remember that weeks or days before may be worrisome and you may not be sure how you will get through it, but suddenly the day is there and over and it wasn't as bad as you expected even if it was bad.
So just decide when and where the vacation will be, plan ahead, and go. Allow yourself to enjoy it! Often we feel guilty if we have a good time. Remember how much your child enjoyed trips and life and know that she or he would want you to do the same!
by Betty Ewart (Taken from TCF Rockland County NY Summer of 1998 Newsletter)
WHERE DO WE GO?
There is not a good answer to that. Yes, if you go where you have always gone on vacations, memories will flood in. But if you choose a totally new place, we found that you just wonder how she would have liked it there, what would she have done, etc. So, you take your choice and ex-pect the feelings and plan for them!
WHAT DO WE DO IF WE VISIT RELATIVES? Talk to them. Tell them that it is hard and that it is all right to talk about your child — they see that you welcome hearing the name and having them share memories they have and everyone can relax.
WILL I FORGET HER/HIM?
Don't fear! You can never forget just because you are away from home. Don't be afraid to talk about her/him and let them be a part of things.
TRAVELING COMPANION:
Remember that you cannot really leave your grief at home when you go on vacation. It will go with you. Plan for it and pack for it. Don't over schedule the days and activities — you won't feel like doing as much, perhaps, as usual and you may tire more easily. Take along some reading material — per-haps on grief but some light reading too.
5
There Is A Room
There is a room in our home whose door is closed. I open it from time to time and pause awhile.
The red carpet is somewhat stained,
an old oil spill, perhaps. Hair oils darken the wall beside where the bed once
stood,
A candy wrapper, a popcorn kernel or two, lie beside the roller skates,
All this hid in the dark beneath the bed.
Now the bed is gone, as are most of the clothes.
Dressers stand alone around the desk, drawers full, cluttered with mementos.
The closet holds a few tools, a batter's cap, a down
vest, a fishing pole. It is Olin's room. Here he lives in memory only.
I stand quietly and remember waking him up in the
morning, starting a day. Within these walls we talked a lot, sometimes in
anger, often with love. In here I cared for him when he was sick.
Sometimes we'd wrestle, laugh, look at papers, see a drawing.
In this place I held him in my arms, dried his tears,
kissed him good night.
There were hard moments, too, within these walls.
They have heard arguments, lectures,
seen him placed across my knee. But mostly they witnessed hugs and closeness,
caring and love.
In this room I hear the whispers of our yesterdays and know I love him still.
Someday this room will be a den, but not too soon.
I've taken care of some furniture, but not all. Some things have been discarded, but not too much. A few things have been stored away,
but there's a lot to go. There is still much to do,
transforming this part of my past.
It's like my soul: a little cluttered, a bit dirty, just partially picked up.
In its slow transformation back to life I say my good-byes.
Mostly, though, I watch my now, blessed and built in countless memories,
Unfold to the future. Don Hackett ,TCF, Hingham, MA
They Don't Wear Purple Hearts In Heaven
I lost my brother
to a foreign land;
I was too young
to even under-
stand.
There was a
knock at the front
door,
then Momma
wasn't smiling
anymore.
The man at the
door was a Ma-
rine,
the first I'd ever
seen.
Momma told me to go out and play;
then the preacher came and they started to pray.
Tears ran down from Momma's eyes,
and I heard her say, "Why, Lord, Why?”
Father stood there seemingly mindless; all he said was,
"We've lost another of America's finest."
The Marine handed Momma a small velvet case.
Inside was a Purple Ribbon,
attached to a gold heart with Washington's face.
I asked Momma if it were mine,
but she said, "It's your brother's, Sunshine."
"Momma, can we send it to Kevin?" She answered,
"They don't wear Purple Hearts in Heaven."
— Author Unknown —
A lot of time! A little space,
A kind of quiet resting place, Are what I need at times like these, A special spot where I can grieve.
~ Beth Pinion, TCF, Andalusia AL
6
~By Scott Newport
I just returned from an adventure to the Everglades National Park with one of my high school buddies. He and I go way back. When we were sixteen and first got our driver’s licenses, $1.20 would buy me two gallons of gas, just enough to get to his house and back.
Before I left for Florida, I made sure to give my son Noah a big hug good-bye. This trip was go-ing to be my first real getaway since the birth of my other son, Evan. Evan would have been ten this year. Since I was going to be gone for three days, I wondered if Noah would see my absence as an-other loss. I know any time he goes away for the night, I feel a loss. I think once you have lost a family member, you realize the unthinkable can come true.
On the flight from Michigan to Florida, Noah continued to be on my mind. He’s such a great kid, but I often worry if surviving the death of his younger brother will one day manifest in a negative way. So far, Noah has turned to positive outlets for coping.
For me, my main survival skill has been what I like to call “scooping up things.” I can make it through each day if I embrace the simple things in life. With every breath I inhale, I scoop up in my mind what I think has value. I do this almost un-consciously as I go about my daily work and rou-tines. And of course, this trip would be no differ-ent—I’d be looking for things to scoop up, exam-ine, and save.
On our first night in the Everglades, my buddy and I camped on an old Seminole mound fifty miles from the isolated boat ramp from which we’d launched. We saw alligators everywhere, floating silently in the meandering waterways or sunning their gnarly black bodies on the muddy banks as we motored past. Soaring black vultures circled over-head and long-legged white herons waded in the brackish water. When we stopped to eat lunch, I sat at the back of the boat. While no-see-ums swarmed around my head, I searched for anything that might be lurking around the boat.
My eyes immediately spotted a family of tiny translucent minnows darting between the roots of the far-reaching arms of the mangroves. With every organ of their thinness exposed, I wondered how long the minnows would live; how long they had been alive.
On shore, ancient lemon and banana trees were visible among the thick foliage, evidence of indigenous families that used to live there. The smell of those trees was something I had never ex-perienced before. Overwhelmed by the process of “scooping up” these things, I took a deep breath, grabbed my notebook, and started to jot down my thoughts.
Before my trip, I thought that the night sky over the Everglades would be full of brilliant stars, but, in fact, the moon was so bright the stars were
dimmed. On our last night in the Everglades, the full moon was king, opening a whole new day in the darkness for me to scoop up my treasures. As we poled my buddy’s flatboat around the spider’s web of inlets, ripples on the water glistened smoothly as they rose and fell, radiating away from our boat. We couldn’t see any alligators, but we heard their midnight rumbling noises resonating for miles. I felt like my time in the Everglades could provide me with a lifetime of storytelling material.
After paying three dollars for a much-needed shower at the little store by the boat launch, I said good-bye to my friend and headed for the airport.
On my flight home, I opened my notebook and gazed again on the Everglades. The descriptive words and phrases I had written down while on my buddy’s boat took me back in a flash. My short notes and childlike sketches made me smile and reminisce. I was sure to get a dozen poems out of the scribbles.
Even though I took pictures on our adventure, I prefer words on a page when it comes to sharing my trip with my friends and family. Words seem to better capture the simple things I scoop up. The young girls seated next to me must have thought I was nuts as I kept a silent smile on my face during the whole flight.
When I got home at about 11:00 that night, Noah was still up. “Hey Dad, did you miss me?”
“Of course, son! When I get home from the presentation I have to give tomorrow, I’ll tell you all about my trip.”
Saying good night, I gave him a hug and we both went up the stairs to bed.
Even though I’m just a carpenter, on occasion I’m also a presenter for state-funded training semi-nars for parents and caregivers of chronically ill children. Because of Evan, I’m something of an ex-pert there.
Early the next morning, my wife, Penni, came down the stairs and said, “Noah told me Mrs. Weathers from the middle school was going to call.” Immediately I had a bad feeling. Maybe eve-rything Noah had been through over the last few years—losing Evan—had finally taken its toll. Maybe he got angry at another kid. Maybe he pushed one of his buddies. Fears started to race through my head. Penni continued, “She called yesterday.”
“Well? What did she say?” “She said there’s a needy family in the com-
munity that’s looking for a child’s bedroom dresser. Noah told her we have one.”
In less than a second I knew which dresser Noah had in mind. It was the one in the bedroom I hardly have the courage to walk into. I give myself permission to look though the French doors to the once I.C.U. where Evan and all his medical equip-ment lived. I can’t go in there. It is still too over-whelming. Evan’s favorite blanket still lies in his crib—the crib where I found him dead and lifeless.
Penni didn’t say it, but her blue eyes spilled out the love she has for both her boys. And as she walked away, I knew she loved me too. I just stood there and held back my tears. I still can’t even talk to my wife about Evan’s death.
(continued on next page)
Scooping Things Up
7
Later, at the end of the all-day seminar, I got up to give my presentation. Wiping tears from my eyes, I told the story about Noah and how he is transitioning through his grief and his life as a young boy of thirteen. The whole room was in tears with me. I scooped up each tear-filled smile sent my way. You see, the things I scoop up aren’t all minnows and moonbeams—sometimes they are profoundly painful.
“I could never have given away Evan’s dresser,” I told the group of people sitting in front of me. “It would have been another loss for me. But because Noah was the one who decided it was okay to give away the dresser, I was okay with it. That sorta surprised me.”
On my three-hour drive home, I realized how proud I am of Noah. Like a brilliant, full moon, Noah’s spirit shines brightly. I believe I will gaze with wonder and appreciation at his life again and again and again. I’ll probably never give up my scooping-up habit—but I bet that, even years from now, Noah’s gift will stand as one of my best finds ever. Thanks, son.
Scott Newport, inspired by the short and profound life of his son Evan, began writing in 2002 to help him-self cope. He quickly discovered his writing also helped other families facing similar challenges. His essays and poetry have been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, Exceptional Parent magazine, and in numerous medical journals and publications. His work has grown to include parent and palliative care advocacy. Scott lives in Michigan with his wife, Penni, and 13-year-old son, Noah.
Lovingly Lifted from TCF We Need Not Walk Alone Summer 2012
Scooping Things Up (continued from page 6)
TO A CHILD GONE I thought I was ahead of you in line.
You would take your turn after I took mine, Like we did before.
I guess you don't need new shoes for starting Heaven.
Or a light left on against the dark, the way I always did.
But I'm so used to parenting, I wanted just to be there —
To do whatever needed to be done. But you went first.
And now, my little one, Suddenly you are my senior. Morning, I know will come,
But, bring close your light — This time it is I who fear the night.
Carol Lynne Pearson, TCF, Portland, OR
Warm summer sun, shine kindly here, Warm southern wind, blow softly here, Green sod above, lie light, lie light —
Good night, dear heart, good night, good night.
(Inscription on the headstone of Susy Clemens, daughter of Mark Twain)
8
(Continued on next page)
Lovingly Lifted from TCF We Need Not Walk Alone Winter 2012/Spring 2013
9
An Open Letter to Grieving Friends (continued from previous page)
Lovingly Lifted from TCF We Need Not Walk Alone Winter 2012/Spring 2013
10
When is the right time to send a book ? ? ?By Alice Wisler
I recall my grandmother’s frantic need to purchase a sympathy card the moment she
heard the news that her friend’s mother had died. We, as a society, are quick to send
a card or buy flowers for a grieving family. But when it comes to giving another type
of gift, for example, a book, we aren’t sure what to do.
When the tragic shooting happened last December at Sandy Hook Elementary School,
many came to ask if copies of my new book on grief and loss could be sent to the
mourning families. The question rose: When should we send these books to Newtown,
Conn? Now? Or wait till time passes and routines continue?
I was reminded of my friend Raymond, who buried two sons on the same day. He re-
ceived so many flowers at the funeral that his first thought was: What to do with
them? He took some home, gave some to family members and carted a bunch to the hospital where his
sons were treated. “How thoughtful it would have been had some of these flowers been given over a pe-
riod of time, spread out — some arriving on Mother’s Day, more at Christmas, a nice vase of them on the
anniversary of my boys’ death, and more on their birthdays.”
Perhaps our society doesn’t realize that after the death of a loved one, grief goes on and on. While giving
a gift at the onset of the death is important, neglecting a bereaved family months or years later is a typi-
cal reaction.
Two weeks after my 4-year-old son Daniel died, I received a book written by local
parents who had lost children in various ways. One of the women shared how she
lost a son 40 years prior to neuroblastoma, the same cancer Daniel had. I looked her
up in the phone book and called. I’ll never forget the feeling of calling a stranger to
tell her about the death of my son. Would she think I was crazy? Too forward? I did-
n’t care; I needed to connect with someone who had had a child die.
When she answered the phone, I told her what had happened to me. “Thank you for
calling me,” she said at the end of our conversation. She invited me to her house for
lunch. We got together many times after that. She was living proof that life could go
on for me.
So when is the best time to send a book to a bereaved friend?
As often as you can.
Dear Cookbook Contributors: Memories Around the Table: Treasured Recipes will be arriving in boxes to my door soon. It is time
to order your copies! Each book is $15.00 retail with $3.00 for S/H. But for the contributors, I am offering a pre-order special so that
each book is only $10.00 total (no S/H costs). Order as many as you like for $10 each during this pre-order special. After July 5th,
when the books arrive and the ordering information goes live on my blog and is open to the public, each book will be $15.00 plus S/H.
There are many ways that you can order your books.
1) You can choose to use PayPal. Simply send me an email saying you want to order x number of books and I will send
you an invoice.
2) You can send a check to Alice Wisler for the correct amount to the address below:
201 Monticello Avenue
Durham, NC 27707 USA
3) For my local contributors—you can hand me a check or cash when you see me.
Alice J. Wisler
Fiction Author, Grief-writing Instructor and Cookbook Compiler http://www.alicewisler.com
In 1997 Alice's four-year-old son Daniel died after treatments for neuroblastoma. Since then Alice has been an advocate for writing through loss and conducts workshops both online and at conferences. Alice is a Durham resident and author of five books including the new devotional Getting Out of Bed in the Morning and the new cookbook Memories Around the Ta-
ble as well as many articles on bereavement. http://www.alicewisler.com
She heads to Atlanta to present a workshop on writing this weekend. A fellow bereaved mom whose son was shot and died in 1998 will join her from Florida to help facilitate. She says it helps her to do these workshops in Daniel's memory.
11
Loved and Always Remembered
O U R J U LY C H I L DR E N
Loved and Always Remembered
William "Joseph" Clarkson Son Mary Lou & Bill Clarkson Darryl Badgett Son Marye & Glenn Badgett Nathan Tew Son Angela & Cameron Tew Katherine Rice Daughter Margaret Rice Stephen Zombek Son Marguerite Zombek Matthew Blake Salyer Son Ron & Cindy Salyer Garrett Whitt Son Mitch and Robin Macon Whitt Justin Azzopardi Son Joseph & Angela Azzopardi Sean Martin Son Roslynn & Thomas Martin Richard Rashad Highland IV Son Tamara Gibbs Christopher Bambara Son Claire & Stephen Bambara Cameron Jackson Grandson Mary Lou Jackson Ava Bennett Daughter Tracy & Ed Bennett Nigel Ellison Son Rachel Ellison & Tony Smith Mark McDavid Son Jim & Macon McDavid Eliana Brynn Navy Daughter Cecilia & Frank Navy Paul Michael Spampinato Son Thomas & Maria Spampinato Hope Mooney Daughter Dawn Mooney Clayton Willett Son James Willett Paul Terrelonge Son Linda & F. Ray Strother Chris Coker Son C. Earl & Jackie Coker Charles Harrison Smith, III Son Charles & Sandra Smith Hanna Lugo Daughter Suzette Lugo Bryan Reaves Son Ed & Irma Reaves Thomas Winar Son Thomas & Debra Winar Robert Hallman Moore Son Barbara Moore Dantonio Jamie Lorn Vecchione Son Elizabeth Curry
Charles Harrison Smith, III Son Charles & Sandra Smith Kristy West Daughter Kathy & W.A. West William Bunn Son Mark & Amy Bunn Lori Frances Pinette Daughter Allen & Carmen Pinette Blake Carroll Son Susan & Ricky Carroll Mark McCain Brother Nickie McCain Carlo Hargraves Son Stephanie Ellis Christopher Hamilton Son Lisa & John Hamilton Charles W "Charlie" Kochersberger Son Janet Watrous & Robert Kochersberger Matt Danehower Son Sue Danehower David Thompson Son Susan Thompson Michael Shannon Son Jack & Robin Shannon Ryan Fogg Son Anne Fogg Eric Metcalf Son Kim Bertniaume Edison Ruef Son Jennifer & Martin Ruef Richard Rashad Highland IV Son Tamara Gibbs Stephanie Acai Daughter Sandra Acai Lillian Manis Daughter Paul & Elizabeth Manis
Christopher Johnson Son Libby & Richard Johnson H'Katherine Rcom Daughter Vien Siu & H'Phoa Rcom Kyle Evan Shaw Son Judy & Doug Brunk Hope Mooney Daughter Dawn Mooney Ava Bennett Daughter Tracy & Ed Bennett Claibourne Smith Woods IV Son Judy E. Matthews Jacob Lee Son Terri & Bill Holt Roy Taylor Son Dollie Glaum
Birthday 0
Anniversary
Alexander "Lex" Luster Son Maria & Anthony Luster
Now I know, my love for you, was your gift to me. — Debbie Sippel, TCF Aurora IL
12
Chapter Co-Leaders: Dennis Riggs…919-649-1329 (e-mail: [email protected])
Chap Haddon...919-363-9721 (e-mail: [email protected])
Bereavement Letters: Mara Lewis...919-655-5659 (e-mail: [email protected])
Treasurer: Gary Yurcak...919-847-1780 (e-mail: [email protected])
Newsletter Editor
& Membership Info: Pattie Griffin...919-829-1982 (e-mail: [email protected])
Website: www.TCFWake.com (e-mail: [email protected])
Wake TCF Phone Line 919-833-4022
National Office Information: P.O. Box 3696, Oak Brook, IL 60522-3696 Toll-Free: 877-969-0010 / Ph: 630-990-0010 Website: www.compassionatefriends.org Email: [email protected]
The Compassionate Friends, Inc. Wake County Chapter PO Box 6602 Raleigh, NC 27628-6602
THE COMPASSIONATE FRIENDS, INC. Wake County Chapter PO Box 6602 Raleigh, NC 27628-6602
