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Printed
on Sunday, July 17, 2005
San Jose Mercury News
Lessons
on Living With Sudden Death
By Karen de Sa
Janet Childs'
lessons in grieving begin with sudden trauma. They last from the moment
of impact over the many years it takes to numb the pain.
Heather McCormack became an unwilling student in February, introduced
to the director of the Centre for Living with Dying in a Los Gatos hospital
where her husband, Mark, lay dead. McCormack was the first in the Santa
Clara County Fire Department to die in the line of duty, and his fellow
firefighters were overwhelmed.
But in strode Childs -- physically petite, but sweeping in presence --
bringing calm to the chaos. She has decades of experience at scenes like
this.
"I didn't know who she was when she showed up, but she was just so
unbelievably comforting," McCormack said. "She basically knew
exactly what to say, and to me that was such a comfort because everyone
else was going through what I was going through and didn't know what to
do. She was my angel."
Knowing what to do in the face of death is Childs' specialty. As director
of education for the United Way-funded non-profit center, she provides
crisis intervention for schools, businesses and community organizations
around the bay.
These days, the folk music-playing former nurse who lives in a San Jose
mobile home park focuses on police stations and firehouses. Her work is
critical for "first responders" - often people whose tough exteriors
keep them from admitting the personal toll of car accidents, fires, shooting
deaths and domestic violence. Childs puts them at ease.
In 1999, for example, booze was Salinas police officer Andy Miller's solution
to his mother's death. His job was in jeopardy when he first became Childs'
client. Within two years, he was promoted to sergeant and had launched
a stress management team in his department.
Miller said in an "extremely conservative, machismo law enforcement
environment," where police officers don't tend to trust outsiders,
Childs, 53, with her flowing curls and soft, soothing voice, is a hero.
Capt. Mary Gutierrez of the San Jose Fire Department calls Childs the
"Mother Teresa" of her agency, echoing the praise of other officials.
Childs also counsels children and adults who are dying or mourning loss.
Her work is a battle to bring death out of the closet. For too long, she
says, the "D-word" has been carefully couched as "passed
away" or "in heaven now."
Childs believes it's a human right to have a safe place to accept death
and deal with it. In a society she describes as "grief-denying,"
she attempts to ease problems for people who return to work too soon,
or those who confront the dreaded question: "When are you going to
move on?"
In the center's Santa Clara offices, muted lighting, plush sofas and potted
plants set the tone for group and private sessions led by Childs and four
other paid staffers on a $1 million budget. More work is done throughout
Silicon Valley by 125 volunteers who receive a year's training in grief
counseling. The organization, which merged with the Bill Wilson Center
for troubled youth last year because of budget hardships, has served 1
million people since its 1976 inception.
Childs also leads "community debriefings" after traumatic events
like earthquakes or workplace shootings, often attended by as many as
100 people.
Although such group sessions have been criticized by some psychologists,
and their benefits disputed in long-term studies, Childs defends them
as a necessary part of coping with the aftermath of trauma. She says the
goal of debriefing is not to provide therapy, but rather a safe and confidential
place for people who need support and resources.
Childs and the center's founder, Mary Anne Kelly, bring their own losses
to the job. Kelly lost 11 friends and family members in 10 years, including
two husbands -- one who committed suicide. Childs lost her stepson, several
close family members and her fiance, who died in a motorcycle accident.
Finding few books, ill-equipped clergy and no support groups, Kelly launched
the center in her living room, joined shortly thereafter by Childs. Neither
woman has specific training in mental health, but they met while working
for a suicide prevention group.
The work has grown steadily over the years. On a recent weekday, Childs
and her staff had three emergencies to respond to: an injured Emeryville
police officer who shot and killed a suspect who tried to run over the
policeman with his car; a Monterey County sheriff's deputy who was hospitalized
after a jail inmate stabbed him; and an adult soccer player in San Jose
who collapsed and died on the field.