This week, as we continue our series of interviews with authors who have self-published, I had the pleasure of interviewing Sam Turner about This Might Help, the book he and his wife Phyllis put together.

Like author Janice Urie, who we interviewed last week, Sam and Phyllis have experience with the grief of losing a son. In the early years of their mourning, Sam and Phyllis received enormous help and support from their Tucson Chapter of The Compassionate Friends and after awhile, the couple realized they had experience valuable to others. The following interview examines the process of publishing a book of columns they came to write for The Compassionate Friends Tucson Chapter newsletter. Excerpts from the book follow the interview.

Sheila
You and your wife Phyllis put together and self-published a book to help parents grieving the loss of children. In the introduction you write:

Our son, Robert, died of sleep apnea in his bedroom, in our house. We had not clue that he had a sleep disorder. In fact, we didn’t know the cause for several yeas after his death. I walked into his bedroom that July morning expecting him to bound out of bed and help me with the gardening. Instead, I found his lifeless body. Death had come approximately five hours earlier.

The death certificate said, “Died of natural causes.”

What child of twenty-three dies of “natural” causes? Eventually, we discovered that mild forms of sleep disorders ran in our family. After extensive research, our doctor agreed that apnea was “most likely the cause of Robert’s death.”

You continue:

No matter all the well-intentioned advice from friends and relatives, we struggled for our own answer in our own time. There was no sleep, only nights filled with whirling “whys” and constant replaying of the scene of his death.

We thought we were unique. After our first few meetings with The Compassionate Friends, we realized that others were struggling with the same questions. Some members were further long in their grief and we saw a glimmer of hope, a spark of “life” back in their eyes. That hint of hope was what helped us: We realized that others were willing to listen to us, to assure us that we could move through those months if we allowed ourselves to participate in the sharing our experience with our new friends.

And then you and Phyllis went on to become those members who were friends there for others.

Sam
Yes, eventually Phyllis and I became contributing editors to our local The Compassionate Friends (TCF)’s newsletter. We wrote self-help articles for each issue, and, ultimately, we compiled the articles that we’d written over a three-year period for a book by the same name as our column, This Might Help.

Part of our journey was to write for others about attitudes and rituals and even daily activities we found helpful for ourselves and one other.

Before we began writing, the only exposure we had had to grief material was in our TCF library where we have about 60 titles. Phyllis and I served as the librarians for two years and inventoried and reviewed several books for the Chapter newsletter. Most of the books were personal stories about a parent’s loss and about that child. Except for Into the Valley and Out by Rich Edlar, none of the books offered information about the ins and outs of grieving, such as new ways to address holidays, that we were gaining by going to our Chapter meetings and sharing in small groups. We were inspired to write a column as our way to share information with others who were walking the same road.

We started our writing in 2000, three years after Rob died and we continued writing through 2003. In 2004, we started compiling the articles we wrote.

Looking back now, we realize in the years from 2003 to 2007, we have seen continuing and greater change and awareness in ourselves. So we are working on a second edition of This Might Help that will cover a broader spectrum of the grief experience, including sibling loss and more contributions from other members.

Sheila
When you were ready to publish the book, how did you make your decision regarding what small press to use?

Sam
We were going to use the same company that prints our Chapter newsletter; however, after they ran 100 copies, we discovered that their computer program was not compatible with Publisher 2003, the program we had used to create the book.

We had to junk everything, find a new printer and get 200 books, all in five days because we were going to a conference where we had signed up to sell the book. In desperation, with five days to spare before our first sale presentation, we called West Press, a local Tucson printer. The representative who worked with us did the editing, the adjusting of the fonts and had our copies ready for us the day before we flew to Salt Lake.

Since the beginning, we have ordered an additional 400 copies that have sold quite well over the past two years. We have about 20 copies left that we will display this summer at the Oklahoma City Compassionate Friends National Conference.

Sheila
How do you work to promote your book?

Sam
Except for the annual conferences, we have not done any other promotion. At the conferences, there are special rooms where authors can display their work.

The Hollywood conference also had three tables for authors to give book talks. Conference participants could move from table to table. When I was scheduled to use a table late in the day, I actually only had a few books left.

Sheila
What feedback do you get about our book?

Sam
The only negative feedback I’ve had is that some people liked the wire bound first copies better than the perfect bind we did next. They thought the wire bound was easier to handle. So do I.

Sheila
And the positive feedback?

Sam
Many of the positive comments came from letters we received. Readers liked our layout and the way we wrote from our own point of view. Often the letters included a check to mail additional copies to their friends.

Sheila
Is your audience for the second edition people who are further along the grief path or are you trying to offer more columns in case people want to have more direction from the beginning?

Sam
Actually, yes to both. Since we still attend the meetings, I am constantly reminded of NEW grievers and that helps me keep focused on what our columns emphasized. Some have been on the Path for a few short weeks. Others have been walking it for many years. As with us, the “older” travelers often become leaders/facilitators in the group to help others. Our book can help them do this. We have many more columns to choose from in collecting for a second volume plus we want to have a section on how to run an effective meeting. Another section will include how to facilitate a meeting. Somehow, I’d like to include a list of suggestions on what a person can write about that might help them to start the process of journaling. Journaling can be an effective tool toward positive movement along the valley of grief.

Sheila
I remember that in the book’s introduction you wrote about the fact that you were an avid journal keeper and writing daily letters to Rob helped you quite a bit.

Sam
Yes, writing down my thoughts kept them from spinning in my mind at night. So I think journaling could help others as well.

Sheila
I believe that by including journaling ideas in your book, you will help many by showing them how to come to the page as you do. I am sure you have also already helped in another way by donating books to others.

Sam
We have donated a number of our books to various TCF chapters throughout the country. In most cases, those donations resulted in additional sales. Donating the books to various TCF libraries was easier on our budget than a website that we ultimately dropped because of spam problems. Now, we occasionally get orders from chapters we have never heard of.

Sheila
Since this topic is such a sad one, how do you feel about dealing with book sales and distribution?

Sam
This isn’t the kind of book someone who hasn’t had to deal with grief probably would read. Yesterday, my neighbor, who has two children, and is a school nurse, asked me about our book. I had casually mentioned that we had written a book on grief. I showed her a copy, and I told her I hope she NEVER has cause to read it.

Sheila
But I would think that a school nurse would come across children who had lost parents or siblings and parents who had lost kids. I know you would hope that no one would need such a book, but we also know many, many people do. Maybe your neighbor would be a good audience for the book–a different audience than you had imagined, but someone for whom the book could be a resource in helping others–teachers, parents, siblings.

Sam
That’s true. As a matter of fact, she mentioned two incidents in the past year where a child was killed in a car crash. I’m going to give her some brochures tomorrow.

Sheila
I know she’ll be thankful. And thank you, Sam, for this interview. Is there anything else you’d like to add about the experience in self-publishing that you and Phyllis have had?

Sam
ANY kind of publishing requires good editing. It is important to have a professional do the final editing. We had a professional do ours. Even if you are an expert writer, you need someone to edit who can step back and look at the whole piece with an impartial eye.

Sheila
Tell us how to order copies.

Sam
We are practically out of our second cycle of printed copies. We may be out by next week’s Conference. Reserve orders may be placed through us by emailing Clearskys@cox.net. Our Second Edition should be ready by December of 2007

Here are excerpts from This Might Help by Phyllis and Sam Turner:

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Go Bekah!
November 2002

Ah, the excitement of T-Ball! When we have the opportunity to see our five-year-old granddaughter swing the bat, hit the ball and run to first base, it’s as exciting as the World Series. There she is in her blue shorts and too-long, gray t-shirt of the mighty LIONS (GRRROOWWLL), with blonde pig-tails flying as she runs to each base. The game is a win-win situation. Even if the first baseman catches the ball and touches the base, she is still safe at first.

The first baseman gets a complement from the coach: “Great catch, Nelson. Way to go.”

And Bekah gets a: “Nice running, Bekah. Good job.”

Everyone gets a chance to run from base to base. Everyone gets to touch home plate. Everyone (on both teams) smiles often. There is much laughter and positive encouragement from the spectators. Not once does a parent shout a negative remark or complain. The game is played with love and encouragement.

Bekah’s parents and little sister enjoy the experience. We delight in the scene. We absorb everything: the bright sun, the heat, the dust, the water bottles, the creaking of the lawn chairs, the large hats shading our eyes …

And the memories, of course, twenty some years ago, of our kindergarten son playing on a similar field with parents shouting encouragement. He came running off the field in the middle of the game shouting to his mother, “1 kicked the ball! 1 kicked the ball!”

“Great, Rob. Now go back and kick it again.”

Then the tears come.

We didn’t expect them, but they came.

They lasted for only a minute. No one saw us. We held hands for a moment. We breathed deep, glistening eyes causing blurred vision of the action on the field. And the memory passed and we were once again shouting encouragement to Bekah. Bekah who will never get to know her Uncle Rob.

Would we skip going to the T-ball games? Of course not. Nothing can fill the void of our loss. However, we wouldn’t want to miss one moment of excitement watching Bekah’ s smile of success as she runs to first base, pig-tails flying. We could make an excuse for not going, but we feel that it’s healthy for us to be out; healthy to participate in family games, healthy to share in the excitement. There are even times when Rob’s Spirit can be heard saying: “Go Bekah. Go Bekah – Go.” And we wouldn’t miss that, either.

The “rip-tide” of emotional grief sometimes catches us unprepared. However, it doesn’t keep us from enjoying the ocean of happiness with our children and grandchildren.

Phyllis & Sam

****

Difficult Dates
July 2001

Robert’s Death Month has come again–(July 2, 1997). This year he would be twenty-seven years old. (I’m having difficulty seeing the screen right now.) That first year we found ourselves alone on July 4th, waiting for the family and relatives to arrive during the next few days, for the memorial service. Because we needed a break from the oppressive walls of our home, we drove west down Broadway just far enough to watch the fireworks over “A” mountain. We didn’t stay for the ending, but we watched silently knowing that July 4th would never be the same for us, again. We were numb with the question: “What happened?”

For the past three years, we have spent that “vacation” weekend in San Diego, over the 4th of July. We weren’t running away. No one can run away from their child’s death. We just wanted to be away from Tucson.

In 1988, Rob, Phyllis and I vacationed for a week on Catalina Island. The islanders apologized because they were having a cold spell. We had to buy sweatshirts! We enjoyed the change since Tucson temperatures were around 110°. Rob walked the beach with us, took the island tour, rode the glass-bottom boat, went to the Casino to see a movie, ate seafood, and played video games (without us!).

The vacation was delightful with much laughter and sharing. We were able to cope with the misguided hotel advertisement that said we would have an ocean view. We did…if we walked to the end of the hotel hall, out on the tiny, three-person balcony, leaned over and looked four blocks down the street.

“There! See that blue between those two buildings?”

Taking that experience for granted was easy. We returned to Tucson with photographs, journals and great ideas for returning again, someday. Someday … Someday …

This 4th of July, Phyllis and I are once again returning to Catalina Island for the first time since our trip with Rob. We know we will not be leaving our grief at home. His memory will be wash over us like the very waves along the beach. Our level of anxiety always rises over this weekend. We are never prepared for this time. So why leave? I can just hear Rob saying, “Go for it, Dad. Go for it, Mom. Have a great time. I’ll enjoy it with you.”

We are traveling with three friends. We will play cards. I will paint some watercolors with our friend, Lucy. Some of us will keep journals. We will walk the beach carrying some of Rob’s ashes in small film canisters and exchange ashes for a seashell or rock. We’ll take the island tour again and go to a movie, ride in the glass-bottom boat, and eat seafood. We’ll even watch the fireworks. I might even visit the video games, remembering …

“Go for it, Dad.”

Phyllis & Sam

****

When is it Time?

One day, Phyllis cleaned out Rob’s dresser and his closet. The time was right.

For the first six months neither of us could bring ourselves to step into his room. One day we had his bed removed. On another, we took some pictures down, placing them in our chest next to baby pictures. The time was right.

Years passed and his door stayed shut. Like some castle sanctum high in a tower to be forgotten for generations, his room stayed closed. But, of course, we hadn’t forgotten what it represented. There were no locks; we could enter at any time. The room was ever present. For us, the fear was opening the door and remembering. Facing the flood of memories released uncontrollable tears from deep within our very souls. Stepping into the sanctum we felt a spiritual force like a giant bellows squeezing the breath of life out of us. The feelings didn’t last forever.

One day the sun shown bright through our house. A fresh breeze rang our patio bells. Without a moment’s hesitation, Phyllis opened the door and began cleaning out the dresser drawers. Some items went into boxes for the closet shelf. Some were placed in a basket to give to family and friends. Furniture was moved; two day beds were placed in the room; bright new pictures graced the walls; windows were washed; curtains were pulled back. When we finished, we left the bedroom door open. The time was right.

Phyllis & Sam