July 2001
The Director - Departments
Grief Relief
The Rebirth of Hope
In 1962, Ches Hudel was 31 when her husband, Bill, and her nine-year-old son, Jimmy, died. That fateful day, Bill and Jimmy rose at 3 a.m. for a predawn fishing trip. They ate breakfast in a little cafe before driving off. Their route took them over an unmarked railroad crossing. The train did not whistle as it sped through a nearby town, and it hit Bill's Chevy as he drove it across a grass-covered track he could not see.
Today, Ches Hudel is in her 70s and looks back at her life during the last four decades. Her experience offers several important lessons and insights into bereavement.
Reality sinks in slowly. When Ms. Hudel saw the state troopers' faces as they stood at her door, she knew Jimmy and Bill were dead. The troopers explained that nothing was left of the car, little was left of Bill, and Jimmy was thrown across the track, where he landed in a ditch with hardly a scratch. Ms. Hudel promptly told her three younger girls about the tragedy. In spite of knowing the details about the loss, reality set in slowly. "There was immediate sadness, but I don't know if they [the girls] understood the permanence," she says. "I don't think I did."
A dream was symbolic. Shortly before the state troopers arrived at her home, Ms. Hudel was awakened by a loud bang in a dream. Looking back, she views that sound as a signal or symbol launching the beginning of her journey through grief.
She refused drug therapy. When her family physician promptly gave her tranquilizers, Ms. Hudel flushed them down the toilet. She preferred, wisely, to experience the pain of grief immediately.
Friends needed her comfort. People began arriving in her home to bring condolence and comfort—her father, mother, neighbors and the pastor. However, when Bill's friends came—those whom he and Jimmy were to have met at the lake she found herself consoling them instead of receiving comfort from them. Ms. Hudel graciously describes those encounters in positive terms, calling them "distractions" or interludes from grief. "That's one of the things that make us survive," she says. "You get distracted. You have to be thankful for so many things, like dealing with Social Security, the busywork."
Early weeks were a blur. Although much had to be done in the first weeks following the tragedy, Ms. Hudel experienced memory lapses. One day, she and her father went to the lawyer's office when, suddenly, she could not remember who was looking after her youngest daughter, Joanie. Rushing home, she and her father found Joanie asleep in her crib. No one else was in the house. Regrets over privatizing grief. Ms. Hudel decided she would not let the girls see her cry. Looking back, she feels it would have been healthier for her daughters to see their mother openly grieving.
Bereavement issues emerged quickly. Several common bereavement issues emerged for Ms. Hudel:
She would see a man from the back and momentarily think it was her husband.
For months, she experienced sleep problems.
Looking at other people laughing and going about their lives was difficult. She would think, "How dare these people do this?"
Some conversations were helpful. A woman Ms. Hudel barely knew told her about the death of her own husband. He was being rushed to the hospital when the ambulance in which he was riding collided with a fire truck. Ms. Hudel was impressed with this grieving widow and began to see her as a role model for successfully dealing with loss. "The point was that she had survived. She was still going," Ms. Hudel recalls.
Other conversations and comments were painful. One woman made the following comment, which initially annoyed Ms. Hudel: "You can handle it." Ms. Hudel eventually realized the woman meant the comment to be positive. She "translated" her comment into: "You have the skills."
A new reality and life had to be created. "It's not just the loss of Bill, that husband, that father. Your plans are all thwarted. You have to regroup," she says. Thus, she and her children began rebuilding their lives by becoming involved in the Christian Children's Fund, an organization that sponsors poor children. They picked out a brother. "He was a six-year-old boy we could buy toys for. It was the beginning of something good."
In addition, a year after their losses, the family relocated from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Dallas, Texas, where they lived a block from her in-laws. The extended family support was important.
Reaching out to others was therapeutic. Ms. Hudel began volunteering at a children's medical center and worked with kids who had cystic fibrosis. "You soon realize you can't indulge yourself by wishing for something that's not going to be. When you start reaching out from your world, there's so much you can do with yourself to meet people on the same journey, to help them meet their challenges." She also began teaching swimming to special-needs children and adults, an activity that she continues to this day.
A second marriage was affected by grief. While Ms. Hudel never expected to be a widow at age 31, or to ever marry again, she did remarry. That marriage ended in divorce after 25 years, however. "I probably did hold Bill up [to her second husband]," she candidly says. "Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed Bill up. It would be hard to live up to somebody the way I remember him." Since the divorce, she has changed her last name from her second husband's back to Bill's.
Religious faith was sustaining. She credits her faith for sustaining her after the accident and with keeping her going today. "As sad as it is, I'm in good hands. I never questioned why. It was so solid in my head: God is so gracious and gets you through whatever. I always knew as a child about this great God person."
Because of her faith, Ms. Hudel conveys an optimism, kindness and spirit of hope to others, particularly to the parents of the children she teaches. "You want parents to see that every minute, every move, every gesture is wonderful," she says. "They can swim; they can be a part of the group. They themselves are so special, whether their IQ is 30 or 70 or 100."
Victor M. Parachin, Tulsa, OK, is a NFDA grief educator and minister. Send comments and questions to
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