A FIRST TIMER'S PERSPECTIVE: Thoughts on the 2005 National Conference
By Libby Mirabile, Greenwich, CT
From We Need Not Walk Alone, Autumn 2005

When my father began going to the national Compassionate Friends meetings several years ago, I thought it was wonderful.  When my mother joined him a few years later, I was ecstatic.  The idea of the two of them being surrounded by other bereaved parents in an environment that allowed them to share their experiences seemed nothing short of brilliant.  My sister Lynn and I agreed that it showed definite progress on their part in dealing with the loss of our older brother Rich.  We were their cheerleaders, taking care of the house and the dogs while they did their thing in Atlanta, Salt Lake City, and Hollywood, CA.  For our part, we wanted nothing to do with it.  We always managed to find an excuse not to attend…the meetings were too far away.  We had to work that weekend.  We just weren’t ready to go yet.  Last summer we learned that the 2005 National Conference was to be held in Boston…a mere twenty minutes from our house. We were stuck; we had to go.

If I had been hesitant to attend the other conferences, the sudden death of my sister this past November did nothing to increase my desire to go. for the conference, but I tried to think of every possible way out of actually going.  However, the bottom line was that Lynn and I had agreed to go—if for no other reason than to support our parents—and so I went.  Alone.  And it was scary.

Having had literally no exposure to Compassionate Friends meetings, I didn’t know quite what to expect.  I knew that the men and women who flocked to our house in late November were extraordinary.  They felt the pain of my parents as we stumbled blindly through Thanksgiving night and Christmas morning; they looked at me saw the pain of their surviving sons and daughters who had lost their brothers and sisters.  I could take them in small doses, but disregarded them in part because they were there for my parents.  No one really knew what it was like to lose a brother or a sister….let alone both. I dreaded going to the conference because I didn’t want to deal with the consequences of opening the door.  I worried that once I started dealing with all my grief I wouldn’t be able to stop.  And I was right.  From the outset of the conference, I was overcome with sorrow and sadness for all the people who had suffered losses as bad, if not worse than my own.  I couldn't see past the sadness and senselessness of all the loved ones who had been lost.

As the weekend progressed, however, I came to see that while it is indeed overwhelming, the very essence of this beautiful support system is found in its awe-inspiring numbers.  While the workshops I attended ranged from slightly boring to extremely stirring and inspiring, no part of the weekend moved me as much as the Candle Lighting ceremony and the Walk to Remember.  These two events embodied the TCF belief “We need not walk alone”.  Looking around the room at the hundreds and hundreds of candles that were lit in honor of those we have lost roused a feeling like no other I have ever experienced.   It was sad and tragic, yet beautiful in the communality of the pain we all shared.  Walking among the mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters, down the beautiful streets of Boston on Sunday morning was amazing.  Each person displayed names and pictures of those they had lost, proud to have their loved ones be known. Perhaps most satisfying of all was to take part in this walk, not as the lonely trio my parents and I have become, but as part of a larger family.  To see my father walking with his new friends, my mother a short distance behind with others she had recently met, and even me...walking not with my sister and brother as I would’ve liked, but rather for them, beside my new friend as well.

Throughout the weekend, I heard it said many times that TCF is a family, and though it’s a family no one would ever choose to be part of, it is remarkable nonetheless. Are the conferences for everyone?  No.  I didn’t want to go because I was scared and it was inconvenient.  The truth is, there is no convenient time to fall apart.   You will always be able to come up with an excuse that prevents you from dealing with things.  While the weekend was hard at times and left me utterly exhausted at the end, it was worth it.  For those of you who are too busy/too tired/too anxious to go to a conference, I hope for your sake you “get stuck” going like I did.   It’s an experience you’ll never forget and one that can not be conveyed through words.

 Libby Mirabile is a teacher in Greenwich, CT, and an only surviving sibling.  Her brother Richard died in 1997 at the age of 24, and her sister Lynn died in 2004 at the age of 30.