As you know, I have lost a daughter to SIDS. It was 20 years ago and though there are some bad days, I think I cope well.
I read an article today on another set of parents who lost their 7 year old son. I realized that sometimes it's just as hard to be the friend of someone who lost their child as being the grieving parents. The worst part is you just don't know what to do. Oh you can send flowers and cards, I fully encourage this but you are often left with feeling like you should do more. That there should be something practical that you can do that won't seem intrusive. In fact I have often been asked what people can do when they are supporting a friend through grief.
So here's a list of practical things you can do for a parent who is grieving;
Shine shoes. You are never prepared for a funeral and often men are so used to wearing running shoes they forget to dust and shine up their dress shoes. Ask if you can go in the closet and get their dress shoes and shine them. If you are close enough to the family, do it anyway without asking. It's a simple little thing but it's those things that overwhelm you.
In the same vein, do the laundry or offer to go out to get a dress shirt or dress or in Canada, a warm dress jacket for the siblings for the funeral. How many five year olds have dress pants and suits. Yet the child may feel disrespectful when everyone else is dressed up. Dad may not have worn his suit in three years and it may need airing, dusting or ironing.
Casseroles, juice, coffee, chocolate
Make food that can go in the freezer and be microwaved. If you are very industrious, make one person portions for the nights they need to feed the kids and can't eat themselves. The family will go through three or four cans of coffee, gallons of tea and juice. Don't forget cream and sugar.
"Make or buy a grieving basket." I make these for grieving friends. I just get candles, lavender, chocolate, a journal to have visitors write down their favourite memory of the lost one so the parent can read it later when they can deal, boxes of kleenex--the kind with the lotion, Vitamin B12 and D, rosehip and hibiscus tea for energy and chamomile for calmness, eye drops to sooth burning eyes, a list of phone numbers for later of local support groups such as Bereaved Families.
(You can buy Lavender seeds or oil at Bulk Barn usually in winter.) Lavender is an herbal remedy for stress. Sachets on their pillows or that can be hand carried are not only pretty, they can help create a better nights sleep. (They will get very little and it will not be a deep sleep so anything will help.) Chocolate has a natural anti-depressant. Having white candles in the house to light helps as well. You can cry so much that normal light is just too much to take.
Gas up their car. If you can afford it, a tank of gas allows them the freedom of running away from all the stress, going to the funeral home and later when they need to go the five hundred places that you have to file the forms or just to get to therapy.
Get them the contact numbers of local Bereaved Families. It's a support group that's funded by the United Way and it is made up of people who have lost family members.
Give any visiting grieving child paper and art supplies so they can express their own grief in their own way. A friend did this for the children visiting with their parents. It also keeps the kids quieter. The children of the neighbourhood made me a picture of black hole. They were scared that my daughter would get cold. Getting the picture allowed the parents of these children to open a dialogue.
If it all seems to overwhelm them, put them in your car, drive to a rural area and let them go out into the middle of a field and just scream!
Contact their doctor and update them on the situation, grief can excaberate alot of conditions such as heart conditions, stress/anxiety disorders etc.... This will give the doctor a chance to contact the parents if he/she is worried. I saw a man once who went into a diabetic coma at his wife's funeral because he forgot to take his insulin. Nobody knew he was a diabetic.
What you can say at the funeral.
"I don't understand how bad things keep happening to good people, I'm so sorry that it happened to you."
This meant to me that the person was saying. I don't think this is your fault. I still thought it was my fault but it didn't weigh so much on me.
"I know that he/she is in the arms of (someone who died before that loved them or only if they are very religious people Jesus.) By all rights, they should be in yours."
I found great comfort in the idea that Dee was buried with Hubby's mum and she was taking care of my daughter.
"You know, now might be the time to tell that bi**& that she's always annoyed you. Give her a piece of your mind. You can always claim it was the grief anyway."
Yes I know this sounds stupid but it will give them a minute of thinking of something other than their loss. I said this to a friend who's son had commited suicide and she came back a year later and thanked me.
In one month or year from now, grab a bottle of drink of their choice and let them talk and cry. You get so busy with the funeral and there are so many people willing to support you at the time but it is when the hue and cry quiets down that you actually have time to process and examine your feelings and need someone to talk to. There is usually nobody there two months later but oh how it helps.
At Xmas, make an ornament that symbolizes the person they lost. You think you will be reminding them of their loss but I tell you this, they will be thinking about it anyway, even twenty years later. Knowing that people remember the child will help keep those memories of good times alive for the parent.
And last but never the least,
I remember at Dee's wake, Hubby's dad introduced me to a pair of his friends who had lost their daughter to cancer. I needed them to tell me it was going to get better. That I wouldn't hurt so much forever because I just couldn't bear it. They did and though it didn't seem that way, it's was important to hear.
"I know it feels like a greating yawning hole of pain right now but I can promise that it will get easier to bear. You will not feel like this forever. You will never get over it but it will get easier to bear. I just want you to know that I am here and you have family and friends who will do everything in their power to help fill that hole up with love and caring."
Since I've listed the Do's, I also want to include a few don'ts.
DO NOT SAY
"You can have other children." or "At least you still have other children." This should be self-evident about how stupid it is but you won't believe how many people still say it. No child is replacable.
"I just don't how you can deal with this. I know they were not my children but it is affecting me so hard."
You can talk to other friends and family about how it is affecting you but the parents have enough to deal with without them having to comfort you too.
"You'll get over it."
No they won't. They will learn to deal with it but the loss will be felt forever. Acknowledge that and give them hope it will get easier.
I hope this will help you help your friends and family. I had such amazing friends and family when Dee died that I never thought once of harming myself. I've tried to thank them many times but I don't think they know even today how much their actions and words saved my sanity.
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Monday, December 06, 2010
Grieving Parents Are Allowed...
I believe every grieving parent should be allowed to;
- Have two days during the year when they can hide in their rooms with their heads under the cover, the lost ones Birthday and the Anniversary of the loved ones death. No matter how many years it's been. You don't get over it, you just get used to it.
- Be allowed to smack people who tell grieving parents, "You can have other children." This is stupid. You can't replace children like puppies.
- Be allowed to have as many candles as they want to light for their lost ones. Even if they could burn the house down.
- Need to be reminded that bad things happen to you...not because of you. No matter how good of a parent you are; If you lose a child you always feel the guilt. Don't wallow in it. There is no purpose, healing or reason. "Bad things happen to good people. Just wish it didn't happen to you," was one of the most comforting pharses I've ever heard.
- Be allowed to yell at God whether they believe in him or not.
- Tell the Smarmy Ass Jesus freak at the funeral that I don't find any comfort that they are in the arms of Jesus. I want them in mine!
- Tell people they have three children. She died, it's not like she never existed.
- Smack people who tell women who have miscarriages that, "It's not as if you actually had the child." Of course she did, in her mind the child was born, married and had children already.
- Be angry, sad, frustrated all on the same day.
- Eat as much chocolate as they want.
- Be reminded that they have friends and loved ones who love them, are willing to listen, hug them, get them drunk and let them cry. (I did and it was my salvation. Thank you.)
Girl Gab, ghosts, grief
My sleep schedule is really screwed up right now. The other night our neighbour Marion, (the lady who had the daughter Francis that died at 23 from heart failure,) came over. She comes to talk to me because as a parent who has lost a daughter, she feels I really do understand what she's going through.
She brought food so Breyan let her in. She’s taking to feeding my kids. When the kids tell her I’m out of commission she whips up a casserole or lasagna and drops it by. Which, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about, I may be sick but not stupid. The problem is that she’s so lonely and I hate to lose a captive audience so she stays. And stays. And stays. And stays.
This time she was here until 3 am. We talked about her holidays—she visited friends and family. How she was coping with grief—she still doesn’t sleep and hasn’t returned to work. How she spent New Years—at a gay bar.
Now you know me, I was very sympathetic, offered her chamomile tea and Kleenex and offered practical suggestions on how to cope with the loss of a child. I gave her lots of hugs and we talked about the funeral and her ex-husbands idiocy.
Get this; After spending two hours standing by her only daughters coffin and greeting guests, Marion's started feeling woozy. (Who wouldn’t?) She quietly asks her nephew to get her a chair and holds onto the coffin for dear life praying not to faint. What does the imbecile ex do? He comes up behind her and snarks, "This is not the time for you to make a scene. Grow up Rose! (His new wife’s name.)"
Now if this was me, I would have been looking for a baseball bat, (an umbrella will also do in a pinch) told him what he could do with it and proceed straight to wailing loudly in my handkerchief, remembering all the dramatic voice projection lessons I’ve ever had and cry something like, "But George! (Her ex-boyfriend in high schools name, the one who made him so jealous in their marriage,) My baby is dead and you are telling me I’m not allowed to grieve? No wonder I divorced you!!!! Your emotionally short-changed as well as anatomically!"
But this is Marion who is a good farm girl who never talks back and always does the right thing. She just went and thanked her nephew for the chair, made sure she got something to eat and got on with her grieving with dignity in private. Poor baby.
What a lot of people don’t seem to understand is that grief this bad doesn’t really sink in until a long time after the funeral. It took me a year to really believe that Deanna was dead. I mean, you know it in your head but your heart resists the information with every fibre of it’s being. I often think that it’s the people who have their heart and their head recognize their grief at the same time that end up the suicides.
So Marion has now hit stage two which is when the heart recognizes grief. It means she has to start the whole "seven-step" grieving process over. We talked a lot and I hope that helped but also being me I brought up the stuff she didn’t think was proper to say out loud. For example; that she was getting grey early and that the grief was aging her. Someone told her the other day, "Oh my God, you look so old!" She was devastated. She kept thinking, "Can everyone see her grief? Does she look that bad?"
Now the correct answer to this is, "It’s been a hard year." Which Marion gave her with a sad smile.
The Kimberley answer to this is to smile, give the woman a nice ringing smack and go directly out to dye my hair and see a make-up artist who specializes in crow’s feet and dark circles under the eyes.
One thing I’ve really been trying to encourage her to do is get out of her house. She has no other children so she’s in the house 24/7 by herself with the ghost of her daughter. It doesn’t help that she’s been divorced for four years and hasn’t had sex for seven, which makes the divorce self-explanatory. She’s not your traditional sex kitten or cougar so she’s having a little problem with getting back into dating. She’s more your traditional Italian grandmother with a low sense of self-esteem and no wooden spoon.
Personally, I told her to get herself a vibrator and a good Bonk-buster novel but she blushed so hard I thought she was going to expire on my couch from a heart attack. (Which probably means she has one.)
So what does this lady do for New Years Eve? Does she stay at home and sulk? Does she join a few friends at a house party where she can sit in the corner and nurse a gin and tonic and try to make stilted conversation with divorced, weird men laden down with emotional baggage and having prospective mates thrown at her by her well-intentioned match-making relatives?
Nope! She goes to the gay bar!! Boy I like this girl!!!!
Now part of this makes perfect sense to me. Why go to a regular bar where you have to compete with anorexic teeny-boppers whom you’d rather ask if it isn’t past their curfew and have to put yourself in direct line for rejection and heartache? Why not go to a place where Men are Men but they dress better than the sheep? Why not go to a place where the women compete FOR each other rather than against each other?
I admire her. This must have taken a lot of courage for a farm girl from Gatineau who is in her "Silver" years. (She’s too close to my age for me to say Golden years, it makes me nervous.) No she goes to a place where she can reject the offers from women with good excuse and not even worry about offers from men. (Unless it’s for them to restyle her hair, which, yes, I love her but her last hair styling was in the early seventies and it hasn’t changed.)
Unfortunately, she had a bit of a problem. Well, a bit of a stalker actually. She had been invited out by Francis’ best friend. (Francis is/was her daughter in case I confuse you as usual.) Now this friend, Annie, is a great girl. She loves Marion and does everything in her power to be a substitute daughter. (Or son when I think of it. She’s a manly girl, flannel shirts and all.) She includes her in holiday plans and calls once or twice a week to check up on Marion. She didn’t want Marion to be alone and Marion being one of the more opened-minded people I know for her background agreed to go to this club.
I have to admit I wished I’d seen it. Imagine this. You are in a dance club. It’s hot and sweaty and there is an overwhelming aroma of perspiration and poor choices in perfume. There are clouds of smoke hanging in the air from the smoke machine on the dance floor and the floor is littered with beautiful men/women in teeny-tiny clothes that wouldn’t cover a hamster. The music is so loud that a deaf person would not be sure if the tremor under their feet was an earthquake or ‘Frankie Goes to Hollywood.’
In this middle of this chaos, there sits Marion, hands folded neatly in her lap and posture straight, desperately trying not to look at the man who has the butt cut out of his jeans and wondering why in hell she could never have a bum like that? A fifty-four year old farm woman with salt and pepper hair, who keeps telling herself that she could lose those extra fifty pounds anytime but has been five foot, both ways since she was thirteen. There she was in her "going-out" clothes, a matching set, plum-coloured sequined sweater and pants with a fly, rather than elastic waist. I have to admit I still roar when I think of it.
It turns out that some women like other women to be "real" women. This one woman decided Marion was her New Year’s Gift and started coming on to Marion full-steam ahead. Marion was disconcerted. She told me, "I told her, ‘Thank you but I’m not interested,’ ‘I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,’ and finally ‘I’m straight.’ But the woman didn’t pay any attention and she kept trying to put her arm around me and pinch my bum." Marion takes a deep sip of her tea. "I don’t understand why she wouldn’t understand?’ But it’s not like I have a lot of experience fighting men off and fighting off a woman never even occurred to me. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but really she just wouldn’t go away."
Meanwhile, I’m doing my best to listen with a calm supporting aura and desperately trying to figure out how to take a sip of my tea without choking. She went on. "So finally at midnight when she grabbed me and kissed me I was just stunned. I mean, I just met her two hours ago and here she was trying to put her tongue in my mouth. What could I do? I just looked at her and said ‘Thank you.’ Then I left. "
I gave up the ghost at that and pealed laughter. I told her, "Well you have two choices. Enjoy it and look at it as a new life experience or pretend she’s a guy and do what you would to a guy who did that. Kick her in the shin and leave."
Wide-eyed she answered, "Oh no!" she cried, "I couldn’t do that! It wouldn’t be polite!!!!"
I had to excuse myself to the bathroom at this point because I was sure I was going to pee in my pants from laughing.
On a weirder note, we were discussing how she was coping day to day with her grief. I was worried at one point when she was telling me how tired she was. She has locked herself into a chronic fatigue state and is having a devil of a time getting out of it. She told me at one point she was looking at Fran’s picture and she just started crying and thinking, "Fran, honey I can’t do it. I’m just too tired and I can’t take it anymore. Come and get me please."
Not two minutes later the phone rings and it’s Annie. Annie asked Marion how she was really doing when Marion tried to fob her off with the usual, "I’m fine." Annie then proceeded to tell her that she was sorry for calling so late but she had been fast asleep when Fran appeared in her dream. Fran told her to wake up and call Marion. "Fran," Annie said, had asked her to, "Tell [Mum] it’s not her time yet." So Annie did. I really admire a girl who is willing to call someone at three am to give them a message from the other side.
I admire someone more who gets the call and doesn’t shriek, "It’s 3 am you stupid git! Get a life and some psychotherapy while you’re at it."
Marion had the same reaction I had when Breyan told me that his grandmother came to visit with Deanna at night and wanted me to stop crying because she was taking care of Deanna and would see me when it was my time.
First reaction: Oh my God, he’s seeing ghosts!
Second reaction: It’s very comforting to know that there is an afterlife and that my baby is safe.
Fourth reaction: Hey that’s kind of creepy. Is the MM’s mom able to watch us all the time? Even when we’re having sex? Ewww! Hope it’s a good show.
Well finally after I dosed her with a good gallon of chamomile tea to make her sleepy she went home and I have to remember to return her lasagna dish, though Breyan washed dishes that night so I’d better make sure it’s actually clean before I give it back. I hope she’s going to make it. I’m a little worried by her health condition. She already has high blood pressure and not having a life makes her a prime heart attack candidate. I worry that she will drive herself to a heart attack so that it technically couldn’t be called suicide and she could still be buried in the Catholic church.
She brought food so Breyan let her in. She’s taking to feeding my kids. When the kids tell her I’m out of commission she whips up a casserole or lasagna and drops it by. Which, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about, I may be sick but not stupid. The problem is that she’s so lonely and I hate to lose a captive audience so she stays. And stays. And stays. And stays.
This time she was here until 3 am. We talked about her holidays—she visited friends and family. How she was coping with grief—she still doesn’t sleep and hasn’t returned to work. How she spent New Years—at a gay bar.
Now you know me, I was very sympathetic, offered her chamomile tea and Kleenex and offered practical suggestions on how to cope with the loss of a child. I gave her lots of hugs and we talked about the funeral and her ex-husbands idiocy.
Get this; After spending two hours standing by her only daughters coffin and greeting guests, Marion's started feeling woozy. (Who wouldn’t?) She quietly asks her nephew to get her a chair and holds onto the coffin for dear life praying not to faint. What does the imbecile ex do? He comes up behind her and snarks, "This is not the time for you to make a scene. Grow up Rose! (His new wife’s name.)"
Now if this was me, I would have been looking for a baseball bat, (an umbrella will also do in a pinch) told him what he could do with it and proceed straight to wailing loudly in my handkerchief, remembering all the dramatic voice projection lessons I’ve ever had and cry something like, "But George! (Her ex-boyfriend in high schools name, the one who made him so jealous in their marriage,) My baby is dead and you are telling me I’m not allowed to grieve? No wonder I divorced you!!!! Your emotionally short-changed as well as anatomically!"
But this is Marion who is a good farm girl who never talks back and always does the right thing. She just went and thanked her nephew for the chair, made sure she got something to eat and got on with her grieving with dignity in private. Poor baby.
What a lot of people don’t seem to understand is that grief this bad doesn’t really sink in until a long time after the funeral. It took me a year to really believe that Deanna was dead. I mean, you know it in your head but your heart resists the information with every fibre of it’s being. I often think that it’s the people who have their heart and their head recognize their grief at the same time that end up the suicides.
So Marion has now hit stage two which is when the heart recognizes grief. It means she has to start the whole "seven-step" grieving process over. We talked a lot and I hope that helped but also being me I brought up the stuff she didn’t think was proper to say out loud. For example; that she was getting grey early and that the grief was aging her. Someone told her the other day, "Oh my God, you look so old!" She was devastated. She kept thinking, "Can everyone see her grief? Does she look that bad?"
Now the correct answer to this is, "It’s been a hard year." Which Marion gave her with a sad smile.
The Kimberley answer to this is to smile, give the woman a nice ringing smack and go directly out to dye my hair and see a make-up artist who specializes in crow’s feet and dark circles under the eyes.
One thing I’ve really been trying to encourage her to do is get out of her house. She has no other children so she’s in the house 24/7 by herself with the ghost of her daughter. It doesn’t help that she’s been divorced for four years and hasn’t had sex for seven, which makes the divorce self-explanatory. She’s not your traditional sex kitten or cougar so she’s having a little problem with getting back into dating. She’s more your traditional Italian grandmother with a low sense of self-esteem and no wooden spoon.
Personally, I told her to get herself a vibrator and a good Bonk-buster novel but she blushed so hard I thought she was going to expire on my couch from a heart attack. (Which probably means she has one.)
So what does this lady do for New Years Eve? Does she stay at home and sulk? Does she join a few friends at a house party where she can sit in the corner and nurse a gin and tonic and try to make stilted conversation with divorced, weird men laden down with emotional baggage and having prospective mates thrown at her by her well-intentioned match-making relatives?
Nope! She goes to the gay bar!! Boy I like this girl!!!!
Now part of this makes perfect sense to me. Why go to a regular bar where you have to compete with anorexic teeny-boppers whom you’d rather ask if it isn’t past their curfew and have to put yourself in direct line for rejection and heartache? Why not go to a place where Men are Men but they dress better than the sheep? Why not go to a place where the women compete FOR each other rather than against each other?
I admire her. This must have taken a lot of courage for a farm girl from Gatineau who is in her "Silver" years. (She’s too close to my age for me to say Golden years, it makes me nervous.) No she goes to a place where she can reject the offers from women with good excuse and not even worry about offers from men. (Unless it’s for them to restyle her hair, which, yes, I love her but her last hair styling was in the early seventies and it hasn’t changed.)
Unfortunately, she had a bit of a problem. Well, a bit of a stalker actually. She had been invited out by Francis’ best friend. (Francis is/was her daughter in case I confuse you as usual.) Now this friend, Annie, is a great girl. She loves Marion and does everything in her power to be a substitute daughter. (Or son when I think of it. She’s a manly girl, flannel shirts and all.) She includes her in holiday plans and calls once or twice a week to check up on Marion. She didn’t want Marion to be alone and Marion being one of the more opened-minded people I know for her background agreed to go to this club.
I have to admit I wished I’d seen it. Imagine this. You are in a dance club. It’s hot and sweaty and there is an overwhelming aroma of perspiration and poor choices in perfume. There are clouds of smoke hanging in the air from the smoke machine on the dance floor and the floor is littered with beautiful men/women in teeny-tiny clothes that wouldn’t cover a hamster. The music is so loud that a deaf person would not be sure if the tremor under their feet was an earthquake or ‘Frankie Goes to Hollywood.’
In this middle of this chaos, there sits Marion, hands folded neatly in her lap and posture straight, desperately trying not to look at the man who has the butt cut out of his jeans and wondering why in hell she could never have a bum like that? A fifty-four year old farm woman with salt and pepper hair, who keeps telling herself that she could lose those extra fifty pounds anytime but has been five foot, both ways since she was thirteen. There she was in her "going-out" clothes, a matching set, plum-coloured sequined sweater and pants with a fly, rather than elastic waist. I have to admit I still roar when I think of it.
It turns out that some women like other women to be "real" women. This one woman decided Marion was her New Year’s Gift and started coming on to Marion full-steam ahead. Marion was disconcerted. She told me, "I told her, ‘Thank you but I’m not interested,’ ‘I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,’ and finally ‘I’m straight.’ But the woman didn’t pay any attention and she kept trying to put her arm around me and pinch my bum." Marion takes a deep sip of her tea. "I don’t understand why she wouldn’t understand?’ But it’s not like I have a lot of experience fighting men off and fighting off a woman never even occurred to me. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but really she just wouldn’t go away."
Meanwhile, I’m doing my best to listen with a calm supporting aura and desperately trying to figure out how to take a sip of my tea without choking. She went on. "So finally at midnight when she grabbed me and kissed me I was just stunned. I mean, I just met her two hours ago and here she was trying to put her tongue in my mouth. What could I do? I just looked at her and said ‘Thank you.’ Then I left. "
I gave up the ghost at that and pealed laughter. I told her, "Well you have two choices. Enjoy it and look at it as a new life experience or pretend she’s a guy and do what you would to a guy who did that. Kick her in the shin and leave."
Wide-eyed she answered, "Oh no!" she cried, "I couldn’t do that! It wouldn’t be polite!!!!"
I had to excuse myself to the bathroom at this point because I was sure I was going to pee in my pants from laughing.
On a weirder note, we were discussing how she was coping day to day with her grief. I was worried at one point when she was telling me how tired she was. She has locked herself into a chronic fatigue state and is having a devil of a time getting out of it. She told me at one point she was looking at Fran’s picture and she just started crying and thinking, "Fran, honey I can’t do it. I’m just too tired and I can’t take it anymore. Come and get me please."
Not two minutes later the phone rings and it’s Annie. Annie asked Marion how she was really doing when Marion tried to fob her off with the usual, "I’m fine." Annie then proceeded to tell her that she was sorry for calling so late but she had been fast asleep when Fran appeared in her dream. Fran told her to wake up and call Marion. "Fran," Annie said, had asked her to, "Tell [Mum] it’s not her time yet." So Annie did. I really admire a girl who is willing to call someone at three am to give them a message from the other side.
I admire someone more who gets the call and doesn’t shriek, "It’s 3 am you stupid git! Get a life and some psychotherapy while you’re at it."
Marion had the same reaction I had when Breyan told me that his grandmother came to visit with Deanna at night and wanted me to stop crying because she was taking care of Deanna and would see me when it was my time.
First reaction: Oh my God, he’s seeing ghosts!
Well finally after I dosed her with a good gallon of chamomile tea to make her sleepy she went home and I have to remember to return her lasagna dish, though Breyan washed dishes that night so I’d better make sure it’s actually clean before I give it back. I hope she’s going to make it. I’m a little worried by her health condition. She already has high blood pressure and not having a life makes her a prime heart attack candidate. I worry that she will drive herself to a heart attack so that it technically couldn’t be called suicide and she could still be buried in the Catholic church.
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