Kindlandia: Look for the Helpers

Dearest Edythe,

As you know, I was only 30 years old when I lost Larry, my husband and the father of my children. He was an Army pilot killed in a helicopter crash on the 10th of July 1983. Levi was nine and Kizzie Marie was eight. My life was my husband and children. When he died, my world shattered. This week was the 35th anniversary of his passing. No, it doesn’t get easier. In fact, new issues arise that need to be addressed as life changes and I change. Each year I’m challenged anew on how to honor Larry’s memory and not get sucked down into the deep well of loss.

For years I listened to Christmas carols in July—or sometimes even the whole summer—as I submersed myself into my favorite music and the holiday spirit I loved even as I ached and mourned.

Last week, dear friend and guest blogger Ellin Snow wrote about her impressions of Mr. Rogers and his children’s Public Television Show after seeing the recent documentary, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? Ellin and I both were most touched by Roger’s quote from an interaction with his mother: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers—so many caring people in this world.”

This year as I reflect about the catastrophe that took Larry’s life and devastated our family, Roger’s vignette gave me a new insight for grieving and healing as I think about all the unrecognized helpers who with their kindness and compassion reached out to help us in our time of “disaster.”

For years the memory of opening my front door at 6 AM to a military entourage brought only feelings of anguish. Not a word needed to be spoken. I knew Larry was gone. The physical and emotional pain was swift and brutal. The trauma caused everything after opening the door to be blocked from my memory.  Roger’s story helps me realize how the group was not only the bearer of bad news, but came as helpers, as well. I realize how the Battalion and Company Commanders, Chaplain, Officers and Wives of Larry’s unit did everything in their power to offer support the day of Larry’s death and years to come. These acts of Kindness were expressed in many forms as helpers took the children shoe shopping, made all the military funeral arrangements in Larry’s hometown, and the Protestant Women of the Chapel (PWOC) placed a “Love Lives Here” banner across our front door to help our return to an empty house after the services. Yearly I receive a card from the PWOC on the anniversary. In recent years another widow from Larry’s unit has posted photos and videos on Facebook from the annual memorial services at his unit at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky.

This year I see that military entourage with new eyes. Instead of stopping the scene in the first moments of despair, I invite the story to unwind further into all the care and compassion that was lavishly showered upon my children and me. I choose to feel gratitude towards the helpers who came to our aid even when we were too distraught and numb to register the kindnesses that were already surrounding us in those first horrific hours of loss.
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“Look for the helpers … there are still so many caring people in this world.”